


What Was Lost

by seductivembrace



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/pseuds/seductivembrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to "Misfortune Seemed His Lot". Buffy is miserable and haunted by past mistakes. Spike isn’t much better off. Determined to get on with his unlife, he leaves LA and the memories of Sunnydale behind - but, has he really?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

_Three months after the fall of Sunnydale_

Angel descended the stairs and stopped once he reached the bottom. Everyone was gathered in the hotel’s foyer – save Buffy, of course – either conversing in groups or loitering about. Fred, Wesley, and Gunn were clustered together near the front door, apparently waiting for him so they could begin their first official work day at Wolfram & Hart. None of them, himself included, looked eager at the prospect. But, they’d all made deals with the devil and now had to live by them.

It didn’t stop him from wishing he could take it all back, however.

With his own blood used to sign on the dotted line, he’d lost not only his son but his childe as well. The former he’d agreed to willingly, wanting to give Connor a chance at a better life, a _normal_ life. The latter… the latter he’d come to find out, was a harsh blow to the soul perched so precariously inside his chest.

Yet, even while he ached at now being alone in the world once more, he couldn’t help but be filled with pride that the young fledge he’d helped mold into one of the deadliest vampires in recent centuries had been capable of so selfless an act.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Giles asked as he reached Angel’s side, his voice low so the others couldn’t hear.

“We’ve been over this,” Angel practically growled, his voice also barely above a whisper. “I’ve got no choice. We… _we’ve_ got no choice.” He crossed his arms over his chest and gifted the watcher with a glare worthy of Angelus. “We can do some good, Rupert. Where better to beat evil at its own game?”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Giles sighed. “Very well… I… uh… that is… have a good day, I mean night, at work.”

“Yeah.”

Angel moved off and joined his team at the door. They left without word a moment later.

~*~*~*~*~

Giles watched the four leave and silently shook his head. The things one did in the fight against evil. He just prayed that Angel and the others hadn’t bitten off more than they could chew.

Still, he had other things to think about, namely the restoration and restructuring of the Watcher’s Council – a daunting task, to say the least, given their extremely limited man-power, and that comprised mostly of a select few men and women that had long since retired and had reluctantly stepped in to fill the void. Angel had graciously donated his hotel to the cause, and Giles had tapped into Council funds to refurbish the top two floors in order to create office space and training rooms. Things were moving along at a rapid pace and coming together quite well; he was no longer buried under mounds of paperwork or constantly dealing with the ever-ringing telephone, allowing him a moment to stop and smell the proverbial flowers.

When he had, he’d been speechless. And consumed with guilt over the state of his slayer… and to some extent, the rest of the team. But it was Buffy who worried him the most. Buffy, who had become but a shadow of her former self. Just going through the motions, just like she’d sung about once upon a time.

He’d come to find out that although she’d appeared to have reconciled herself with Spike’s death and taken a small measure of comfort in the diary he’d kept, one that she’d apparently given to him, she rarely spoke to anyone – even her sister, Dawn – and spent a good portion of the daylight hours either wandering the hotel’s courtyard or sitting quietly by herself on one of the stone benches. If anyone dared speak the vampire’s name in her presence, Buffy was quick to leave the room and he’d witnessed in the past several days many occasions upon which his slayer’s eyes were swimming with unshed tears as she walked away.

He wished there was something he could do, but every time he tried to broach the subject of Spike, and moving on, he’d been the recipient of her glacial stare. He’d given up finally, resigned to let Buffy be and allow her to work through things on her own, and at her own pace. She’d obviously yet to forgive him for the part he’d played in the aborted attempt on Spike’s life, or his repeated badmouthing of the vampire both before and after the event.

He supposed he deserved her contempt and understood her wanting to avoid him, but she’d forgiven him for other mistakes made in the past. In his mind, mistakes he believed far worse than his treatment of Spike.

Time. Time was what they needed. Time for him to apologize for his actions, and for her to let him.

Until then, he’d go about his business. Work on finalizing the details on the new Council headquarters. Work on getting the slayers a place to train and watchers to help guide them in their calling.

“I’ll be upstairs if anyone needs me,” he called out to the others still lingering about in the front foyer.

He sighed again at their lack of reply and trudged up the stairs to the top floor. The building crew had gone home for the night and he needed to check on their progress with the remodeling. The contractor had promised him they would be finished inside a week, ahead of schedule and under budget.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy was a wreck and she knew it. Guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders, compounded each night by her dreams. Dreams in which Spike mocked her from the shadows.

_“You love me, Slayer?” Spike taunted as he pointed to an image of her and Angel, their lips locked together in a heated kiss. “Do you?”_

Then another image.

_“He’s in my heart.”_

Even then the words still wouldn’t come. Three simple words she’d been too cowardly to voice… not until the bitter end.

And he’d not believed her. Just given her a smirk and—

_“No you don’t, but thanks for saying it…”_

Her heart ached as she threw back the covers, climbed wearily from bed and stumbled her way into the bathroom. A hot shower would help wake her up and harden the armor that allowed her to function during daylight hours.

“Hey, Buffy,” several people greeted her an hour later as she crossed the foyer on the way to the courtyard. She mumbled a distracted hello to encompass everyone and continued walking.

“Buff, wait up,” Xander called out and left the side of one of the young slayers to jog after her.

Buffy ignored him and kept moving. She needed the peace the courtyard afforded her before she could face anyone; last night’s dreams had been particularly brutal. Then there was the added bonus that sitting in the sunlight kept Aingel away from her. It was probably very childish on her part, but every time she laid eyes on him was like a knife to her heart. That he had lived yet Spike had—

Spike was gone… and it was her fault. She’d given him the amulet, made him her champion. And in doing so, she’d handed him a death sentence.

“Buffy… hey.”

“Oh! Hey, Xander.” She swiped at a tear while her back was turned before reluctantly taking a seat on one of the stone benches.

“How you doin’?” Xander asked as he joined her. He reached out and grabbed her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Good. I’m good. Better…” She gave him a half-hearted smile.

“That’s… uh… that’s good. Dawn was asking about you yesterday. She was wondering how you were doing. Now I can tell her. That you’re uh… good and all…”

“Yeah.”

“Buffy—”

“Xander, don’t start. Please? I said I’m fine. Can we just… just _not_ , alright?”

“It’s been three months, Buffy. Don’t you think—?”

“I know how long it’s been,” Buffy snapped, pulled her hand away and stood. She didn’t look at Xander as she added, “ _Believe_ me, I know.”

“Look. I’m sorry, Buffy,” Xander apologized as he walked up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “But Spike would have wanted you to move on.”

Buffy saw red at his words, turned around and blasted her long-time friend.

“How would _you_ know what Spike would have wanted?” she demanded furiously. “It wasn’t like you were the best of friends. You barely spoke to him, and when you did it was only to belittle him. Or throw his past back in his face. ‘His chip is gone, let’s stake him.’ Isn’t that what you said? Well, isn’t it, _Xander_?”

“We all make mistakes, Buffy.” His own voice rose to match hers. “Yeah, I probably let my past history with Spike cloud my judgment, but can you _blame_ me? All you or Giles ever told us was that vampires were soulless unfeeling things… only good for a stake.”

“He had a soul.”

“Yeah? So? He still killed people with it. Fat lot of good—”

“That was different,” Buffy interrupted. “He was being manipulated by the First. He wasn’t even aware… Look… I don’t want to talk about Spike. I don’t want to talk. _Period_. Just leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I didn’t mean— I don’t want to argue with you,” he sighed. “I’m just worried about you. We _all_ are. You barely eat; you hardly speak to anyone. You avoid Angel like he has the plague… not that that’s not a good thing… because I’m all with the Angel hate-age. But, Buffy…”

“I said I’m fine,” Buffy replied wearily.

“Yeah. Okay. Can’t say I didn’t try,” he muttered the last to himself, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. The same one he got every other time he tried to bring the subject up. “I’ll… uh… leave you alone then.”

Buffy didn’t answer, and after another minute, Xander turned away. He had his hand on the door leading back into the lobby when he tossed out over his shoulder, “You weren’t the only one that lost someone that day, you know.” Then he stepped inside and closed the door.

~*~*~*~*~

Words couldn’t describe how Spike felt, going from feeling the eternal flame of damnation flaying his skin alive in a Hell of his own making to suddenly having his booted feet on solid ground in an unknown laboratory, several spots on his flesh melted through to the bone, the agony of which nearly brought him to his knees. He barely noticed the subtle shift of bones and tissue give way as his demon came to the forefront to help him function through the worst of the pain, until his senses sharpened perceptibly.

Senses that told him he was not alone – the telltale racing heart, a soundless feminine gasp, the unmistakable scent of fear.

His gaze zeroed in on the human – a tall, willowy woman with expressive brown eyes – and he practically salivated when her heart rate kicked up another notch.

“Are you… are you alright?” she stuttered, the concern in her Texan drawl momentarily eclipsing her fear.

For a second, Spike didn’t know what to think. The woman was food, nothing more. That she seemed worried on his behalf was what made him pause.

And as he did so, memories resurfaced: him standing alone deep within the Hellmouth, his soul harnessing the sun to burn the Turok-Han to ash; he and Buffy, their hands clasped together and consumed by flames; Buffy and Angel kissing passionately, no matter that she’d just spent the previous night – however platonically – with him.

It was that image that had followed him into hell…

“No!” he cried, oblivious to his audience. “ _No_!”

His eyes darted around the room for a means of escape. Spying the double doors, Spike ran towards them, ignoring the girl’s attempts to get him to stop.

“Wait! Don’t—”

But Spike was already gone. Adrenaline and rage made it easy for him to push through the pain. Until he was at the end of the hall, then at the bottom of the stairwell, then out of the building entirely.

He had no destination in mind as he raced through the night. His only desire was to get as far away as he could, anything to escape the painful images locked in his mind.

But no matter how long he ran, or how far, he couldn’t escape the image of the Slayer betraying him with his grandsire.


	2. 2

It took everything in Angel not to react once he noticed the amulet Fred held in her hands.

“Where did you get that?” he asked; his throat ached with the need to shout.

“It’s the weirdest thing,” Fred began. “It came by special courier straight to the lab. I had to sign for it, which I thought was strange, because, we have our own mailroom, don’t we? Wouldn’t all the mail just be routed through there? Anyway, I signed for it. When I opened the package, this was inside. But that’s not all. This… vampire, at least I’m pretty sure it was a vampire, seemed to materialize out of the thing. I thought it was going to eat me, or kill me, or—”

“A vampire?” Angel interrupted. “What did it look like?”

“Oh! He looked _awful_ , Angel. His skin was burned to the bone in several places. I… I almost felt bad for it. Him. It was definitely a him. He had to have been in pain. I asked him that, I think.”

“What happened? Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. He just took off. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen. So, I grabbed this and came up here. Uh… Angel, is this going to happen a lot? Demons mystically appearing out of objects? If so, I want to put in for a transfer. I mean, science is my thing, but I just— _Angel_?”

But Angel wasn’t listening to her as he vaulted over his desk and ran from his office. If he hurried, the faint trace of Spike – at least he was pretty sure it was Spike – would still be lingering in the air, just enough to enable him to track the vampire.

~*~*~*~*~

An hour later, the trail ended in a deserted alley; the sight that greeted Angel was nearly enough to make him lose the blood he’d consumed a few hours prior. Spike was huddled in the corner, a dead rat dangling from his mouth. Like Fred had told him, there were several spots on his body where bone was clearly evident, his clothes hung off his skeletal frame like tattered rags. One whole side of his face was charred black and Angel winced at the pain his childe must obviously be feeling. Spike needed blood, lots of it given the severity of his injuries.

“Spike?” Angel called out. “Spike? It’s me. Angel. William—?”

“Go _away_!”

“Spike… William… you’re hurt. Let me help you.” Angel took a few steps closer, only to stop when Spike huddled in on himself even more. “Spike…”

“Leave me _alone_!”

“Spike, I just want to help. You’re hurt. You need blood. Something a little stronger than that rat.”

“You want to help me? _Me_?” Spike laughed humorlessly, tossing the rat aside. “I think you’ve done enough, _Sire_ ,” sneering to obligatory title. He climbed clumsily to his feet, swaying slightly from weakness and pain. Bared his fangs when Angel moved to help him again. “No! Stay away.”

“Spike,” Angel cajoled. “Let me just—”

“No!” Spike started forward intent on pushing past his grandsire and striding from the alley, but what little adrenaline and anger that had gotten him to where he was gave out and he ended up crashing headlong into Angel when the last of his energy evaporated. Angel, who easily caught him up in his arms with far more gentleness than he’d ever exhibited in the past.

“I’ll take you back to the hotel,” Angel murmured as he started out of the alley. Thinking to cheer Spike up some, he added, “Buffy’s there. So are the others. They’ll be happy to see you and can look after you while I round up some blood.”

Which was why Angel was shocked when Spike began to struggle in his arms, forcing him to tighten his hold, injuries be damned, or risk dropping Spike. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“No! No Buffy. No— let me go!”

Spike was nearly frantic in his denial and Angel did the only thing he could think of to cease Spike’s struggles. He agreed. “ _Okay_!” Then softer, “Okay, Spike. No Buffy. Just… just calm down, alright? Spike?”

Spike didn’t answer him, but he did stop trying to get away, and Angel took that as a sign of his agreement. He stepped onto the sidewalk, all but deserted given the late hour, and immediately spied a low-budget motel a few blocks away. Breathing a sigh of relief, Angel hurried forward, intent on getting off the streets and away from prying eyes.

Once inside the room, Angel carefully set Spike down on the bed and made quick work of stripping him out of his clothes… and struggled not to gag. Devoid of shirt and jeans, it was all too apparent how badly off Spike really was; it was a wonder the vamp was even alive, seeing first hand the damage that had been done. He settled the covers carefully around Spike and told him, “I’ll be back shortly. I’m just gonna get you some blood. Stay here.”

Spike cracked one eye and eyed his clothes balled in Angel’s hands. Pain made it difficult to draw breath into his lungs in order to get the words out, but he managed a, “Got my bloody kit, wanker. Where do you think I’m gonna go?”

“Just a little insurance policy, though I wouldn’t put it past you to dart out of here without a stitch on. Can I trust you to stay put?”

Spike nodded wearily and closed his eye once more and Angel took that as his cue to leave.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel broke into the local blood bank – it was either that or round up half a dozen humans and offer them up on a proverbial platter to Spike. He could feel his demon battling against its cage to do it and to hell with the consequences.

Only Spike having his own soul and not likely to feed from the source, kept Angel from doing just that. Made him concentrate all his efforts on breaking into the building and gathering as many blood bags as he could carry.

He moved swiftly through the deserted hallways, letting his senses guide him to where the blood was being stored. The refrigerators were kept behind a locked door, and Angel easily broke the lock with nothing more than a harsh twist of the knob. He upended a plastic trashcan sitting at the end of the steel countertop and used it to carry the packets that were hanging from racks in pristine little rows, separated by blood type, just waiting for him to grab. By the time he was finished, he’d cleared out one whole refrigerator and a good portion of a second – enough blood to last Spike several days.

The trip back was a bit more difficult given the loaded trash can he carried. He received looks from a few less savory characters loitering about on a couple of the street corners along the way, but a growl or two and a quick flash of his demon had them shrinking back into the shadows and minding their business.

When he opened the door, Angel half expected Spike to have bolted and the room to be empty, no matter that he’d taken Spike’s tattered clothes. He let out a sigh of relief that Spike was, indeed, still inside and huddled beneath the blankets fast asleep.

“I got you some blood,” he announced as he set the trash can down on the dresser.

Spike didn’t move, however, causing Angel to frown.

“Spike? Hey… wake up. I’ve got blood.”

It wasn’t like Spike not to rouse at the first scent of blood. Angel grabbed two packets, walked around the bed, and knelt down so he was on eye level with Spike. Eyes tinged an unholy shade of yellow stared back at Angel but didn’t see him. Even dangling the blood bags in front of Spike’s face did nothing to break him out of whatever trance he seemed to be in.

“Always gotta do things the hard way,” Angel grumbled before he vamped and tore into the packets himself, guzzling them down one by one in quick succession. Then he slashed his wrist and held it to Spike’s lips. “Don’t think I’m gonna make a habit of this, boy,” he muttered even as Spike’s mouth closed around the self-inflicted wound and began to suckle.

Angel let Spike feed far longer than he probably should have, until the point where he was almost woozy from blood loss. It was only when he felt on the verge of passing out that Angel yanked his arm away. He glanced at Spike as he fell back and slumped against the wall. Spike was staring at him with eyes now gone blue, eyes filled with anger and pain… and so much hurt.

_Betrayal._

“This changes nothing,” Spike told him, his voice only slightly less hoarse than before.

His eyes closed then, and Angel exhaled a shaky breath, crawled wearily back to the dresser so he could consume more blood for himself. He struggled to the bed adjacent to Spike’s and collapsed on top of the covers, closed his eyes and slept.

~*~*~*~*~

When he woke, sometime mid-morning, Angel knew right away that he was alone. The comforter was gone, as was the blood he’d acquired. With nothing else to do – Spike was probably long gone, and the trail cold – Angel called the Hyperion.

“Hello,” Wesley answered.

“Wesley, it’s—”

“Angel! Where are you? Fred said—”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing. I was following up on a lead for a case.”

“A case? But Fred—”

“Wes, I told you… It’s nothing. Just… Look. I’ll meet you at the office after dark.” Angel paused for a minute, debating on whether or not to ask if anyone else had noticed his absence. “Did… uh… that is… never mind. I’ll… uh… see you tonight.”

He hung up with Wesley’s protestations sounding through the line. With nothing to do until the sun set, Angel lay back upon the mattress and tried to get a few more hours’ sleep.


	3. 3

Spike didn’t know how many nights he spent on the run, having paused only long enough to lose the comforter and nick some clothing from a store not far from the hotel Angel had taken him to – the morally bad behavior not making him feel guilty in the slightest. He did know that when the freight train he’d stolen aboard drew to a halt at its final destination, he was somewhere on the east coast, the salty tang of the ocean nearby tickling his overly-sensitive senses. In that time, he’d gone through the entire trash can of blood Angel had acquired, practically gorging himself on the various packets in an attempt to heal his body.

He’d still yet to figure out his grandsire’s reason for getting the blood for him in the first place… or why Angel had willingly sliced into his own wrist and let him feed when he’d been too helpless, too out of it to rouse himself at the muted scent of life-giving sustenance. He could count on one hand the number of times Angel had shown such benevolence.

But Spike had meant it when he said that it changed nothing. He still hated Angel. And the way he was feeling at the moment, with the last few days of his life on the Hellmouth playing over and over in his mind, haunting his dreams as well as his every waking hour, he likely always would.

“Couldn’t let her get on with her life. Oh no…” he muttered as he let himself out of the stock car under the cover of darkness. “Always showing up like a bad penny.”

Spike tripped over the train tracks and caught himself before he ended up sprawled on the ground. He was still weak, even after all the blood he’d consumed, and figured it would be weeks, perhaps even months, before he was up to full strength. Until then, he’d lay low, scope out whatever city he’d wound up in and put down some roots.

“Sloppy seconds. That’s all I’m bloody good for. All I was ever good for. Well… no more. I’m through. Done with that lot. The Slayer included.”

He continued to mumble to himself as he looked for a place to pass the day away and ended up bunking down with a few homeless men in one of the abandoned houses lining the street a few blocks from the train depot.

~*~*~*~*~

For nearly a month he called a ramshackle corner office on the top floor of a condemned warehouse his home, steadily healing in both his mind and body, while at the same time trying to figure out what to do with his unlife. It was by no means the best place he’d ever laid his head, but it wasn’t the worst either. The other occupants – a motley mix of harmless demons and human alike – had long since learned to leave him alone given his mercurial temper and the monosyllabic growls in answer to any questions they might dare ask.

If at times he felt a bit lonely, he had only to remind himself of the last time he’d tried to fit in and failed. The disappointment he’d felt being relegated to the basement after his brief stay with Harris, and the nightly discussion he’d been forced to endure, like he didn’t have preternatural senses and couldn’t hear every word the Slayer’s gang had spoken.

_“Oh, an out of control serial killer. You’re right, that is a great houseguest.”_

_“Wait, is he? Is he staying here?”_

Spike shoved that particular memory from his mind. The Scoobies had had a point; he’d been killing at the time. Unknowingly, of course, but killing nonetheless. Truthfully, he’d not blamed them for the way they’d acted… _much_.

Didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt any less. The soul had made him much more sensitive to their harsh words, whereas in the past he would have shrugged it off, and been ready with a quip or two of his own.

The sun set and Spike gathered his meager belongings and left the warehouse for the last time. He was due to start work at a club located on Main Street near the beachfront and the owner had offered to let him sleep in the room over the bar during the daylight hours while the place was closed. And as a bonus, he was being paid for the time he spent there.

“Extra security,” the man had told Spike as he’d shaken his hand and sealed the deal, knowing full well that he was hiring a vampire. The easy acceptance of his nature, of the demon that he was, had been a soothing balm to his battered spirits. Was, in fact, the reason he’d taken the position in the first place, especially since he didn’t particularly _need_ to work. But, the job afforded him something to pass the time, rather than wallowing in the past.

Spike let himself in through the side door that opened straight into the club’s kitchens. The cook, a half-breed named Scott, looked up and smiled a greeting at his entrance, bellowed for Jackson – one of the club’s bouncers – that Spike was there. A human nearly a foot taller and seemingly twice as wide, peered his head around the corner. Spike wondered if he had any demon blood circulating in his veins given the sheer size of the man.

“Hey, Spike!” Jackson grinned, white teeth a sharp contrast against his dark skin. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can put your things.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Spike stepped forward and followed after the human, up the stairs and through the VIP room, then through another door at the back and down a short hallway.

Jackson opened a door at the end of the hall and gestured with his hand. “It’s not much, just a bed, dresser, small bathroom with a shower through there.” Jackson pointed to another door against the far wall. “One of the guys wired the satellite to the room. Boss has ordered a TV for you. Should be here sometime tomorrow.”

“Right nice of him,” Spike commented as he stepped inside the sparse room and looked around.

“That’s Mike for ya. One of the better bosses I’ve worked for. Anyway… I’ll leave you to get settled in. Uniform shirts are in the top drawer; you can wear it with your jeans. You’ve got about an hour or so before you’re on the clock. If you come down a few minutes beforehand, I’ll give you a quick tour of the place.”

“Alright.”

Jackson shut the door and Spike was left alone with his thoughts. He dropped his bag on the narrow bed and wandered into the bathroom. On impulse, he stripped out of his clothes and climbed inside the upright shower, washing off dirt and grime, as well as the last remnants of his old life, luxuriating in the hot water skimming down recently healed flesh.

In just under the hour he’d been allotted, Spike was dressed in a black t-shirt – “SECURITY” emblazoned with white letters on the back – and matching jeans; black boots completed the ensemble. Barring his bleached-tipped hair, he would have easily blended in with the club’s numerous shadows.

Jackson gave him his tour and Spike settled in for his first night of gainful employment, supervising admittance to the much-sought-after VIP room.

As the weeks passed by and quickly turned into months, Spike found himself, if not exactly happy, then definitely content with his new life. He had a job that let him flex his muscles and at times act the Big Bad – even if he did more growling than any actual hitting – and a few friends to swap stories or play a hand or two of poker with, people that took him at face value and didn’t judge him based on whether or not he bore a soul.

If, at times, he felt bereft when the club closed and everyone went their separate ways, home to their respective wives, girlfriends, or significant others, he buried it deep with the help of a bottle of top shelf whiskey and several hundred channels worth of television.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy looked up, her expression hopeful, as Angel let himself in the front door and walked down the few short steps into the hotel lobby. A slight negative shake of his head, and her face fell and she had to blink back the tears she could already feel forming.

“We’ll keep looking, Buffy.”

“But... it’s been _months_.”

“I _know_ ,” Angel snapped back, in a rare show of temper. “I’m trying. _Giles_ is trying.”

“I’m sorry.” Buffy laid a hand on his arm in a gesture of apology. “I just… I miss him, Angel.”

The “I know” when it came this time was a lot more understanding, the sigh heartfelt. For months now, the combined resources of Wolfram & Hart and the newly formed Council had been unable to find Spike. Every possible lead relating to vigilantism, demon hunting, or other type of good deed all over the globe had been tracked down and been nothing but dead ends.

If Spike was still alive, he was doing a good job of hiding his whereabouts.

Angel had to believe he was; the telltale loss he’d felt when Spike had gone up in flames defeating the First had yet to happen again. No, Spike was still alive… or undead, as the case may be; he just didn’t want to be found.

He moved away, leaving Buffy to her own thoughts, heading for the stairs and the privacy of his room. Spike’s behavior uppermost in his mind.

It had been several weeks before Angel had broken down and told the others about Spike’s return. The news had been met with confusion, hurt, and even anger on the Slayer’s part. Anger at both himself and Spike, him for waiting so long to tell her, and Spike because he’d run away and not wanted to let anyone know of his return.

Angel had no answers for Spike’s behavior, other than the obvious. But Buffy was adamant that the two had mended fences, that their final night together had nixed the idea of any lingering jealousy on Spike’s part. At least, that was the way Buffy figured it. He didn’t think that was the case, however, especially given Spike’s remarks in the wake of Angel having fed him.

It was clear that Spike was harboring pain of his own, and Angel could only imagine the horrors he’d endured after he’d dusted – his own time in a hell dimension notwithstanding. Regret was like an albatross around his neck. He couldn’t rightly say why he’d done what he had that final trip to Sunnydale; he and Buffy had clearly been over for some time.

Sighing, Angel let himself into his room and shut the door. He needed a shower and some sleep, not necessarily in that order. He’d been exhausting himself trying to find Spike for Buffy, hating the look in her eyes each morning he came home and had to tell her no, he’d not found him.

Just once, he’d like to be able to get something right.

~*~*~*~*~

Needing some time alone to grieve Anya’s death, Xander had finally taken the road trip he’d always wanted to. Which was why he now found himself standing outside The Rave, a nightclub on Main Street, eyeing the help wanted sign in the window.

For months he’d traveled from city to city, trying to come to terms with the mistakes he’d made with his life. It hadn’t been easy, and more often than not, he’d sought the aid of a bottle or two, barely refrained from seeking something a little stronger. He’d hit rock bottom in a small city outside Houston, puking his guts out in the back seat of his car and scaring the locals. It was the quiet understanding of an elderly waitress, a woman who reminded him a lot of Joyce, who gave him the proverbial kick in the pants and got him to clean up his act and exorcise his ghosts.

He’d spent another week in the small town of Liberty, Texas, repaying Evelyn for her kindness by putting his carpentry skills to good use. It felt good working with wood again, a first since he’d lost his eye. Once he deemed himself ready to go home, he was going to settle down and find a job in the construction business. For now, though, he was enjoying his trek across the country, finding the odd job to keep gas in his car, food in his belly, and a roof over his head.

Xander tried the door and found it unlocked. He’d taken no more than a handful of steps inside when a voice called out, “We don’t open for another hour.”

“Uh… I’m here about the job. Sign in the window says you’re hiring.”

“Got any experience?”

“I worked in a club one summer, bussing tables. What is it, uh… exactly, that you’re looking for?”

“How are you at mixing drinks?”

“Been awhile, but I’m familiar with the mainstream stuff, and I can pop the top of a beer with the best of them,” Xander joked.

“How soon can you start? I’ve got a guy out for a few months, broke his hand, so the job’s only temporary.”

“Sounds even better. I’m not looking for anything permanent.”

“Drifter, huh?”

“Sorta. More like seeing the sights.”

“All right then. I’ll give you a shot. Be back here at eight. Things start to heat up about ten. Here… catch.”

Xander caught the t-shirt flung his way.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Uh… Alex. Alex Harris.”

“I’m Mike. Come in through the kitchen; I’ll let Scott know to expect you.”

“Yeah… okay. Thanks… for the job.”

Xander waved goodbye and let himself out, a slight smile on his lips.


	4. 4

Riding high on having found a job, one that wouldn’t leave his body aching after a hard day’s work spent out in the sun, Xander checked into a cheap motel several blocks away from the beach and his new place of employment, and on the spur of the moment, treated himself to a phone call with his friends. It wasn’t often that he called – every few weeks or so – and he’d not done it prior to his breakdown in Texas, mainly because he’d not wanted to deal with their plaintive pleas for him to return, to come _home_.

What they’d not realized was that Xander didn’t know where home was anymore. And returning to California without coming to terms with his life, and what he wanted for himself now that the fighting was done wouldn’t have helped matters.

After a long heart-to-heart with both Buffy and Willow, where he’d skimmed over his downward spiral with lengthy pauses and an oftentimes tear-filled tremor to his voice, Xander had stressed his need to get out and see the world, to experience life without the constant threat of looming doom, to just bask in the joy of living. While the two women had not agreed with his decision, they’d respected it, and each successive call he’d made since then had been full of lighthearted banter, missing since their formative years together, and their eager questions about where he was and what he’d seen.

“Guess who?” he announced abruptly when Buffy answered the phone.

There was a sharp squeal of delight from the Slayer, a genuine happiness in that brief exclamation despite her own troubles. Xander just barely managed to remove the phone from his ear or wind up going deaf, then a shouted “Willow! Xander’s on the phone!” and more shrill cries in the background. Another extension was picked up and Xander was treated to Willow’s famed babble.

“Xander! Where are you? How are you? I’ve missed you; it’s been so long since you called. And why has it been so long? Are you—?”

Until Xander was forced to cut her off or risk not getting a word in edgewise.

“I’m alive. I’m fine. I’m on the east coast. Myrtle Beach, as a matter of fact. I got a job, as a bartender of all things, and I may actually stay for a few months. We’ll have to see if the boss likes me.”

“Of course he’ll like you,” Willow told him, matter-of-factly. “What’s not to like?”

Xander grinned. “Well, either way, it’s just temporary. Their regular guy got hurt and is out for a few months.”

“Good. That’s good. Not for the guy, because… um, not wishing hurt on anyone. But, good for you that you can step in until he’s better.”

Xander laughed and felt a pang in his heart, almost like homesickness. He missed his friends. Missed what the three had managed to get back since he’d gone away. After he finished his stint at the bar, he just might entertain the thought of returning to California. Maybe he’d surprise them all and come home for Christmas for a few days. It would mean leaving prior to the time he’d allotted himself in Myrtle Beach though; he’d have to see.

A half hour later, Xander hung up the phone and shook his head. He’d been passed around to just about everyone – including Angel, though their conversation was exceedingly brief – and had even managed to chat with Dawn, who took turns berating him for the length between his phone calls and extolling the joys of being a junior in high school in Los Angeles, and all the cute boys there were.

“Will have to go home, just to keep Dawnie out of trouble,” he mumbled as he stripped out of his clothes and made his way to the bathroom to get cleaned up for work.

~*~*~*~*~

Xander was surprised to see the kitchen in full swing when he got to there about twenty minutes before he was due to start.

“Hey,” he greeted the man that appeared to have four hands as he hefted, dumped, stirred and seasoned a huge batch of chicken wings. The guy looked up and a smile appeared.

“You must be Alex. I’m Scott. Gimme a sec and I’ll show you where you can put your coat.”

“Uh… okay. You… uh… need some help with that?” Xander asked, eyeing the huge bowl filled with seasoned wings.

“Nah, they’ll marinade a bit.” Scott wiped his hands on his towel and gestured to a door opposite the one Xander had come in. “Come on. It’s happy hour right now, and Mike’ll be glad you’re here a few minutes early.”

Scott wasn’t kidding, Xander thought as he followed after the man and got his first good look at the nightclub. Most of the seats were filled and several people were milling about, talking in groups of twos and threes. He’d figured with it being the middle of November and given that the city was situated so close to the water, that the place would be deserted; his walk along the boardwalk had suggested as much. Obviously, he was wrong.

He followed behind Scott as the man wended his way through people and tables to a door marked “Employees Only.”

“You can hang your coat up there,” Scott told him, pointing to a row of pegs on the far wall of the employee lounge. “Time clock is here. Mike’s old-fashioned so we’re still in the dark ages as far as that goes.”

Scott handed Xander a thin, oblong piece of paper with his name – Harris, Alex – scribbled across the top. He eyed the thing, flipping it back and forth as if trying to make sense of it.

“Just stick it in the slot.”

“Like this?” Xander held the time card above the hole on top of the clock so that the bottom was closest.

“Uh huh.”

Xander shoved it down, heard a whir and then a loud punch and pulled the card back out.

“That’s it. Put it in one of the empty slots and I’ll take you out to the bar.”

After that, everything blurred in Xander’s mind – officially meeting Mike, his boss; being given a rundown of the cash register in between Mike serving drinks to the people hanging out at the bar; getting into the swing of things and ringing up his own sales.

It all meshed together until he happened to look out at the crowd several hours later and his gaze landed on Spike. Spike, who was alive – undusted – and appeared in relatively good health, even sporting his “recently-acquired-soul-having” hairdo. Spike, who stood with arms akimbo and stared down a man that easily had a good foot on him and appeared hell bent on getting into the VIP lounge. Spike, who, as if sensing someone’s regard, turned away and began scanning the crowd—

_‘Oh shit!’_

Xander ducked behind the bar on the pretext of retrieving something from behind the counter. Not to look the complete fool to those clustered around the bar, he delved into one of the cupboards and his hand closed around… a martini shaker. Shrugging, he stood up and breathed a sigh of relief to see a customer blocking his line of sight to the vampire across the room.

“What can I get ya?” he called out as he made a production of cleaning out the shaker and drying it off, setting it beside the blender when he was through.

“Bud Light.”

And then another customer, and another order. Until he finally relaxed and once more got into the swing of things.

Before he knew it, the DJ was announcing last call.

~*~*~*~*~

“Not bad, Harris,” Mike told him, clapping him on the back.

“Uh… thanks,” he replied, oddly pleased by the man’s praise. Not since Evelyn had he rated anything more than a grunt as he was handed his paycheck at the end of each day – or week, depending on the job. And, he had to admit, he’d had fun tonight; no one had mentioned his eye patch, and he’d even been hit on by a few of the female customers, something that had left him flushing in embarrassment and stammering out an unintelligible reply.

“So, you gonna hang around for a bit? Give the job a go?”

Everything in him was telling him no. To grab his gear and leave Myrtle Beach behind, leave Spike behind, as fast as he possibly could.

Then he heard snark, complete with British accent, getting louder as Spike got closer.

“Yeah, Harris. You gonna help old Mike out of a pinch?”

Xander lifted his head, eye wide and unable to look away as the vampire drew near. Or more like swaggered. The look on his face was classic Big Bad, right down to the half sneer and quirked brow.

His mind was screaming “no… no… no.” The denial was on the tip of his lips; he could see it in Spike’s eyes.

When he answered in the affirmative, confirming his desire to stay on, he was just as surprised as Spike – at least he _thought_ Spike was, until he got a second look and noticed his carefully blank face.

“Good! Good!” Mike was beaming. Another slap to his back and Xander was left alone to finish cleaning up his work space. Something he did quickly, eager to escape being in the same vicinity as Spike. Not that it mattered though, because the vamp had disappeared before Mike had finished thanking him for sticking around.

He was still cautious as he retrieved his coat and clocked out, drawing the tattered ends around his lean frame before he stepped out into the cool night and began the short walk back to his motel room.

Xander rounded a corner and spied his motel in the distance. As he did so, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, Hellmouth self-preservation instincts long buried, springing to life suddenly. He glanced around, trying his best to see into the darkened shadows with his good eye.

“Take the boy out of Sunnydale, but can’t take the Sunnydale out of the boy,” a voice called out, and Xander jumped nearly a foot in the air then whirled in the direction it had come from.

“Spike!” Xander hissed. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Should know better than to walk the streets alone at night, Harris. Rather sloppy for one of the Slayer’s own, doncha think? Some soulless demon could sneak up on you and have himself a tasty treat.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you came along when you did,” Xander replied, too weary to bother arguing with Spike. “Old habits die hard, huh?”

“We’re not on the Hellmouth, boy, and I’m not the Slayer’s watchdog anymore. You get offed wandering the streets at night and it’s your own bloody fault.”

“Contrary to popular opinion, I _can_ look out for myself,” Xander snapped. Amazing how with a few brief sentences Spike had managed to stomp all over his self-esteem and reduce him to the Slayer’s bumbling sidekick.

“Just see that you do.” Spike turned and walked away, but stopped after only taking few steps. “Harris?”

“Yeah?”

“If the Slayer or Angelus suddenly shows up here, you better hope I don’t find you.”

“Pfft. Whatever. Like I’d tell Buffy where you are.”

Though Spike didn't say it aloud, his menacing “You better not,” was easily heard by Xander.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike let himself back into the nightclub and headed straight for the bar. When Mike had told him about a new bartender named Alex Harris, he’d thought nothing of the name. He’d made a vague gesture in acknowledgement and gone about his business of getting ready for the happy hour crowd.

Upon seeing Harris standing behind the bar, working in tandem with Mike, he’d felt a seething rage, felt the demon rising to the surface at having what he considered his turf invaded. It had taken everything he had to suppress his anger, to keep his human mask in place as he concentrated on the increasing crowd at The Rave.

He eventually managed to dismiss the human from his mind and confront him after the club closed. Only… things hadn’t gone according to plan.

“When do they ever?” he muttered as he took a swig of whiskey.

He’d had every intention of running the boy out of town. Then he’d gotten a look at the boy’s eye. Xander always did wear his heart on his sleeve, and his pain was palpable.

So, he’d puffed up, turned on the Big Bad, threatened the whelp with bodily injury if he snitched to his friends, then disappeared.

But not before making sure Xander got back to his room safely.

“Too bloody right, old habits.”

He just hoped he wasn’t making a mistake in trusting the boy to keep his secret.


	5. 5

Xander went a week straight without any verbal interaction with Spike. Their gazes had connected every so often as they worked, and at first Xander had been the recipient of the vampire’s look of contempt before abruptly turning away. That had seemed to mellow over the last day or two, however, and while not being treated to an outright smile of welcome, Spike’s expression wasn’t quite so hostile anymore. _Definitely progress_ , Xander thought.

He’d also made friends with several of the others working at the nightclub and was surprised at how close-knit the group of employees seemed to be.

“Alex, we’re running low on peanuts,” Mike called out over the noise. “Can you grab one of the gallon jars out of the kitchen?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Seeing that Mike and Jim – another bartender working the far side of the counter – had things well in hand, Xander wiped his hands on a nearby towel and slipped out from behind the bar.

“Scott? Where are the peanuts kept?” Xander asked as he walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

He froze in shock at seeing the cook – a demon, he suddenly realized – cursing a blue streak while, literally, blue. Complete with three-inch spikes standing out all over his head.

“You. You’re… a… a… you’re a demon,” Xander babbled, pointing at Scott.

“Only when I have to be,” Scott laughed as he shook off his spikes and the blue tinge to his skin. “Damned fryer just popped hot grease all over my face. Hurt like hell.”

“Oh. Uh…”

“Peanuts are on that shelf behind you. Just take the whole jar with you.” Scott turned away, grabbed his spatula, and went back to work.

“Uh…”

“Alex?” Scott called out when he sensed that the boy hadn’t moved.

“Huh?”

“Peanuts.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Peanuts! I’ll just… uh… get the peanuts then.”

Xander moved towards the shelf Scott had indicated, making sure not to turn his back on the demon that was cooking away at the stove. He was never more grateful than when his hand closed around the jar of peanuts and he snatched it off the shelf and beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen.

“You’re not gonna eat me now, are you?” Xander asked, just before he left.

Scott glanced over his shoulder and took in the boy’s appearance. Couldn’t help teasing him a bit when he replied, “Sorry, kid, you’re not my type.” Then laughed as Alex’s face turned bright red, his mouth worked but nothing came out, and he finally pushed the doors open and disappeared.

“Evil,” Scott thought he heard muttered as the doors swooshed closed behind him.

~*~*~*~*~

Xander was in a daze as he wended his way through the tables back to the bar.

 _‘I’m working in a demon bar,’_ he thought, barely resisting the urge to leave the club and to hell with his last paycheck.

If the situation weren’t so serious, he would have laughed at the irony. He’d traveled cross country trying to get away from anything associated with hellmouths and things that went bump in the night, wanting just a bit of normalcy in his life.

Xander glanced around the club, wondering if any of the patrons were aware of how close they were to danger, or even worse, if some of them were there to contribute to the danger. He didn’t hear Mike calling his name, and it wasn’t until the man came over and took the tub of peanuts out of his hand that Xander was able to push the thought of demons from his mind and concentrate on the task at hand, mumbling a distracted “I’m fine” to his boss’s question about his welfare.

Surprisingly, post “The Discovery” as he was calling it, the rest of the evening flew by, and he gladly gave himself over to the monotony of mixing drinks. Later, while Xander wiped down tables and stacked chairs, the others were busy cleaning up behind the bar and taking inventory to re-order supplies in the morning.

He’d just finished when Mike came over and handed him his share of the bar tips.

“You want to hang around and play a few hands of poker with us?”

Xander was torn. On the one hand, he was excited about the invite since it meant that he was finally being viewed as one of the gang – but what _kind_ of gang? A quick glance about the room revealed no one watching him or Mike, and his gaze came back to rest on the man before him.

Mike seemed nice enough, but Xander knew his judgment of a person’s character wasn’t the best. Case in point – Miss French, Ampata, and most recently, Lissa, the kayak girl, who instead of stringing up her kayak decided he was the one in need of being tied up.

Deciding that the upfront approach would be best, Xander just asked.

“Are you a demon too?”

Xander had to give Mike credit; he didn’t so much as flinch.

“Uh…. no. Why… uh… why do you ask?”

“Because Scott, the guy working in your kitchen, is a demon. You _do_ know he’s a demon, right? I saw him in the kitchen with his blue skin and I couldn’t help not missing the spikes.” Xander gestured to his face with both of his hands. “And I know for a fact that Spike is too. Nothing says vampire like unusually pale skin and an aversion to sunlight, never mind the bad attitude. So, I just want to make sure that it’s poker we’re playing and not ‘String up Xander and Start Another Apocalypse’.”

Mike’s lips twitched. “Get that a lot, do you?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“What Harris wants to know,” Spike drolled as he joined the two, having heard enough of Harris’ blubbering, “is if we’re planning on eating Mr. Nummy Treat here. After all, we’re nothing but a bunch of soulless demons here. It’s what we do, you know, us being evil and all.”

“Ah… I, uh, see.” Mike glanced between Spike and Xander and wondered at the undercurrent between the two. Finally, his gaze settled on Xander and he smiled reassuringly. “Strictly cards. I promise.”

Xander glared at Spike, not appreciating the vamp’s snide comments, and how Spike made it seem like he was the one in the wrong. Demons were evil, case closed. Seven years on the Hellmouth fighting at Buffy’s side had proven that.

Unfortunately, his inner voice chose that moment to remind him of the fact that he’d been working alongside not one, but two, demons – admittedly one _did_ have a soul now – maybe more, for over a week now, and nothing horrible had come of it.

He felt his moral compass shifting and it took him another moment or two before he answered Mike.

“I’m in,” Xander agreed reluctantly, wondering if he was making a mistake. He blamed Spike’s taunting smirk for accepting the invitation and silently swore he’d come back and haunt the vampire if something happened to him.

“Great!” Mike clapped him on the back and produced a cigar from somewhere and tucked it into Xander’s front shirt pocket.

“I don’t smoke,” Xander protested.

“Neither does anyone else. It just sets the mood. Can’t play cards without a cigar in your hand. Or a drink for that matter. Come on. Jackson has the table set up upstairs.”

Xander allowed himself to be led upstairs to the VIP lounge.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike watched Xander throw back another shot of whiskey then wince slightly as he swallowed. He had to admit, he was pretty impressed with the Slayer’s boy. An hour into the game, Scott had allowed his true face to show, citing that he’d never win a hand against Spike without his demon’s edge; Xander had blinked owlishly and downed a shot or two of liquid courage, but had otherwise remained calm and focused on the cards in his hand. As the liquor had continued to flow, Xander had eventually relaxed, allowing himself to enjoy the companionship of those around the table.

Another hour passed.

Chips changed hands, piles got smaller or larger depending on the hand – or the bluff.

Everyone got steadily drunker. They’d gone through two bottles and had just cracked the third. Harris’ one good eye was starting to close, Spike noticed, and he didn’t doubt that the boy was seeing double, if not triple.

“Last hand,” Spike murmured, and there were nods of agreement all around. It was going on four in the morning and they all needed to get some sleep before work later that night.

Spike glanced at his cards, crap, the lot of them, although he didn’t allow a flicker of emotion to show on his face. Next to him, Harris was squinting at his. His boss, Mike was difficult to read; there wasn’t even a tell-tale increase in heart rate to give him away. Scott didn’t have a hand since he was holding his cards with two hands as opposed to one. Jackson folded, not bothering to try to bluff his way to a win.

Probably what he should have done, but then, he never was one to play it safe. He discarded two and the others around the table made their own adjustments. Then the bluffing began.

“Call.”

“I’ll raise.”

Spike quirked his brow at Scott’s raise, but threw chips into the pot nonetheless.

Xander, surprisingly, raised the pot as well, which forced the others to ante up or fold.

Spike was sitting with two pair, not bad given the crap hand he’d started with. He threw in the remainder of his chips and waited.

“Pair of Aces,” Mike announced, turning over his cards.

Scott cursed and flipped over his cards; he had a pair of tens.

“Two pair,” Spike smirked, having beaten out Mike.

“I’ve got three five’s… and two two’s.” Xander squinted at his cards, then laid them out on the table for the others to see. “At least I think so. I don’t think I can have six fives…”

Then he promptly passed out.

“Well, damn,” Spike grumbled.

“Guess Alex was our big winner tonight,” Mike laughed.

“Beginner’s luck.”

Spike eyed Xander sprawled out in the chair. No way was he hauling the boy five blocks to his hotel. “Can’t believe ‘m giving up my bed for the little shit,” he muttered as he gained his feet and lifted Xander over his shoulder. “Let me just get him settled then I’ll come help you clean up.”

~*~*~*~*~

Xander awoke and immediately wished he hadn’t. His mouth felt like he’d licked his way up and down the street. His head felt like the percussion section of his high school band had taken up residence. His stomach rolled and churned and he knew if he didn’t find a bathroom in the next five seconds there was going to be a smelly mess on the floor.

A quick glance around the room revealed that he wasn’t in his hotel room, but wherever he was had a bathroom. He was up and running as if the hounds of hell were after him and just barely managed to make it to the toilet in time.

Homage was paid. Promises of never again were made.

A good portion of someone’s toothpaste was squirted onto his finger afterwards, the taste almost causing a repeat performance at the toilet.

“Bit of hair on the dog that bit you,” Spike called out as Xander exited the bathroom when he was through.

Xander eyed the proffered shot and felt like gagging. He shook his head and pleaded for some water instead. Watched gratefully as Spike left the room and returned moments later with a tall glass filled to the brim with clear liquid.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He took the glass gingerly between both hands and then guzzled it down.

“Here.”

Xander took the pills Spike held out in his hand.

“I’ll get you some more water.”

“Thanks.”

Spike returned moments later with a refill and Xander swallowed the two tablets and finished off the second glass of water.

“You alright to make it back to your hotel? Sun’s up, so it’s not like I can join you.”

“What time is it?” Xander croaked out.

“Twelve, or thereabouts.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’ll be okay. Just need my keys—”

“On the dresser with your winnings.”

“Winnings?”

“Uh huh. Won the last hand with a full house then passed out.”

“Oh.”

“Right then… well, you’ll prolly want to shove off. Get showered and whatnot. Front door’s locked from the inside, just pull it closed behind you.”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll, uh… see ya tonight.”

Spike waved him off and Xander grabbed his money and keys and left the room. Outside in the hall, he realized that he was still upstairs in the club and walked the short distance to the VIP lounge and then down the stairs to the exit.

It wasn’t until he was outside and on his way back to his motel that Xander realized that he’d been asleep in Spike’s bed.

_Spike gave up his bed for me._


	6. 6

Time passed relatively quickly for Xander. Before he knew it, he’d been working at The Rave for a month. A month of working nearly every night… and actually _enjoying_ what he did. A month of card games played – it seemed to him – almost as often, though he’d never again gotten as drunk as he had that first night. A month of getting to know his fellow co-workers, human and demon.

What he’d found out had shaken the foundation of everything he’d believed to be true.

Not all demons were evil. And, just like humans, some were good, others were bad.

He remembered the moment it had hit him. He’d been sitting at the card table. Everyone was swapping stories – the typical bullshit and one-upmanship men engaged in. Somehow the talk had turned to wives and girlfriends, and something had just clicked.

Four of the six players at the table were demons. Two were married; one was in a monogamous relationship. The remaining demon had been Spike, and Xander was well aware of the vampire’s history with women. They spoke of love as if it were a natural thing. And seeing their expressions, even as they teased one another about what their significant others would do to them if they were out too late, Xander could see it.

He remembered catching Spike’s eye, and for once the vampire’s face had been devoid of his usual smirk. In fact, his expression had been carefully neutral.

But he’d seen Spike’s face before the blank mask had gone up. Seen the pain in his eyes.

Just before he’d gone back to his motel for the evening, Xander had tried broaching the subject with Spike, thinking to extend an olive branch by acknowledging the feelings he had for Buffy and perhaps effect a reconciliation. He’d barely gotten the words out when he’d found himself slammed against the wall with a game-faced Spike mere inches from his face.

“Not another word, Harris,” Spike had practically growled.

Xander being Xander, he had opened his mouth to object.

“Not. One. Word.”

He’d been shoved away and Spike had stormed off. He couldn’t help but notice that Spike had snagged a bottle of liquor from the bar on the way to his room above the nightclub, one from the top shelf.

Every attempt Xander had made since that night had been met with more of the same. Spike either ignored him, or worse, left the room entirely.

It was to the point where he’d been ready to chance Spike’s rage and call Buffy.

He didn’t though, only because he figured it would make matters worse. Eventually, Xander dropped it and didn’t try to engage Spike in conversation and things settled down into their normal routine: work, the occasional card game, returning to his motel room alone.

“Alex! Hey! I’ve got someone I want you to meet,” Mike called out as Xander walked out of the kitchen and headed towards the bar to begin his shift.

Xander nodded, seeing his boss talking to another man at the far end of the counter.

“Alex, this is Jacobs, the guy you’ve been filling in for.”

“Hey, Jacobs.” Xander shook the man’s hand and introduced himself. “I’m Xander. How’s the arm?”

“Nate.” Jacobs grinned, holding up his hand sans cast and wiggling his fingers. “It’s all better now. I’m a fast healer.”

Xander nodded, understanding the inferred reference to his unhuman state. “That’s great. Guess you’ll be wanting your job back then, huh?”

“It’s no hurry, man. I’m kinda enjoying my mini vacation. Mike here says you’ve been doing a bang up job.”

“Yes. He has,” Mike agreed. He turned to Xander. “So much so, I’d like you to stay on… if you’d like?”

Xander was surprised by the offer of permanent employment. More so by the fact that he could see himself settling in where he was and calling the place home.

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I wasn’t serious,” Mike replied. “The crew likes you; so do the customers. And you work hard. I’d be a fool to let you go, and I’m anything but a fool.”

“But— uh…” Xander stammered.

“You don’t have to make up your mind now. Just think about it, alright?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Okay. I will.”

Xander got to work, his body on autopilot as he settled into his routine of mixing drinks and passing out bottles of beer to his customers, ringing the sales up and making change. Meanwhile, his mind was busy processing the pros and cons of taking Mike up on his offer.

~*~*~*~*~

Xander tracked Mike down after the club had closed for the night and he’d finished cleaning up the bar area.

“About your offer… Uh, I… that is, I was hoping to go back…” _Home_ , he didn’t say. “… to California. For Christmas. But, if you’ll have me… in say… January…?” Xander trailed off, unsure.

He’d thought long and hard about moving, and came to the conclusion that Myrtle Beach was as good enough a place as any to start a new life. Even _with_ Spike being there. It actually was one of the deciding factors for him wanting to stay.

Outside the influence of Sunnydale, and by extension, Los Angeles, Xander actually got along with the vampire. The negative feelings he’d had against Spike, and demons in general – a bias he’d admittedly had since Angel had burst onto the scene and partly attributed to his jealousy of Buffy’s feelings for him – no longer applied. He’d made friends, real friends, while working at the nightclub.

So, he’d go back to California one last time. Tell his friends his plans, and hope they’d wish him well. He just didn’t see himself living the rest of his life in a place that held so much heartache, fighting a fight with no clear-cut sides.

“January’s fine.” Mike smiled and extended in his hand.

Xander shook it, sealing the deal.

“Come on. Let’s go tell the others before they leave. When do you think you’ll head out to California?” Mike steered Xander out of his office and back towards the main area of the nightclub.

“When can you stand to lose me?” Xander asked as they walked. “I don’t want to leave you in a pinch if Jacobs isn’t ready to come back.”

“He’ll be back Monday.”

“Then I guess I’ll leave Monday… if that’s alright?”

“Hey, everyone,” Mike called out, loud enough so that the people in the kitchen would hear. “Come here. I’ve got something to tell you.”

Xander fidgeted while everyone gathered around. Cast furtive glances at Spike as Mike informed them of Xander’s permanent position as a bartender and that he’d be starting in January after a brief visit home for the holidays.

Spike, surprisingly, offered his grudging congratulations along with the others’ more enthusiastic ones, but there was an edge to his voice that Xander couldn’t fail to miss, and he knew he’d have company at some point on his walk back to his motel room tonight.

Sure enough, just before he stuck his key into the lock to let himself into his room, Xander was wrenched around and slammed back against the wall, a snarling vampire in his face.

“You wanna tell me what you’re playin’ at, Harris.”

Xander congratulated himself on not flinching, especially since Spike looked every inch the soulless demon right then, his anger a palpable thing. Yellow eyes pinned him in place as much as the hands digging into his shoulders. He struggled briefly but gave it up after a moment, finally sighing and said, “I can’t go back. At least not permanently.”

Spike didn’t let up on his hold, so Xander elaborated.

“This is the first place I’ve come to that I thought I might be able to call home, and trust me, I’ve been to a lot of places.” He sighed. “I thought… I thought we were… friends, Spike. Or, starting to be anyway.”

Spike jumped back like he’d been burned. “Friends?” He shook off the demon and eyed Xander warily.

“Well, yeah.” Xander pushed himself away from the wall and straightened his coat. One hand lifted automatically to check that his eye patch was still in place. “All that prickliness aside, it’s kinda fun hanging around you.”

Spike grunted and crossed his arms. “So, you’re off to what? Say goodbye to your friends? Tell ‘em you’re gonna go hang with your new buddy, Spike, for a while?”

Xander frowned. “I said I wouldn’t say anything, and I won’t.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Spike snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, you could always come with me.”

“Not bloody likely.” Spike hesitated. His scornful look turned contemplative. “But, you can do something while you’re there.”

“Uh… Sure.”

“I had a bag. Not much was in it. Just some clothes and such. Not even sure if it made it—”

“It did,” Xander interrupted. He didn’t mention that prior to his leaving, Buffy had still been constantly rifling through its contents on a daily basis, her grief at Spike’s demise readily apparent. “I’ll, uh, bring it with me when I come back.” _Some way_ , he thought.

How he was going to get through his visit without spilling the news of Spike’s whereabouts was anyone’s guess. But, he was determined to respect the vampire’s wishes; Spike didn’t want to be found, by either Angel _or_ Buffy.

Xander figured he’d have to be nowhere in the vicinity if the subject of Spike ever came up.

~*~*~*~*~

The hotel lobby was deserted when Xander let himself in and shut the door behind him.

“Hello?” he called out, but his voice just echoed around the empty room. He walked farther into the lobby, taking note of the Christmas decorations that littered the room. “Probably should have let them know I was coming, rather than try to surprise them,” he muttered as he slung his duffle over his shoulder and started upstairs to the room he’d been using, hoping it wasn’t being used by another.

He was halfway down the hall when a door opened, and Xander stopped and turned around as Angel stuck his head out of his room.

“Xander?” Angel called out sleepily.

“Oh. Hey, Angel. Thought I’d surprise everyone and show up for Christmas. Surprise!”

“That’s nice—”

Angel’s automatic reply ended abruptly on a growl, and Xander stood transfixed as Angel morphed before his eyes and came charging out of his room clad only in a pair of sleep pants.

“Angel!” Xander squeaked as he was slammed up against the wall and Angel snarled in his face. He gasped and gave a tentative, “Angelus?” though he prayed it wasn’t. The last time he’d gone up against the unsouled vampire, he’d barely scraped by with his neck intact. If Angel was indeed Angelus now, there was no chance of that being the case, especially with the hotel being deserted.

“You want to tell me why you smell like Spike, boy,” Angel snarled, fangs inches from Xander’s ear.


	7. 7

A door clicked open farther down the hall and Buffy poked her head out.

“Xander?” then, “Angel, what the hell?” in a much harsher, much louder voice as she took in the scene before her: Xander pressed up against the wall, Angel’s fangs a hairsbreadth away from his vulnerable neck.

Xander gratefully latched on to the distraction, mentally breathing a sigh of relief as he slipped free of Angel’s grasp and hurriedly put as much distance between himself and the glowering vampire as he could.

“Hey, Buffster,” he stammered out, heart still in overdrive. “Merry Christmas! Early by a few days, I know. I wanted to surprise you guys. Uh… _Surprise_!”

Thankfully, she seemed to put the scene of him and Angel from her mind and smiled slightly in welcome.

“It is. A good one. A good surprise, that is.” She stepped out of her room and walked over to Xander. Flicked her eyes briefly at Angel, who had backed up and stood leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Are you… I mean… are you… uh… back? To stay?”

Xander shook his head regretfully, though he smiled to lessen his denial. “Nah… just here through the holidays. But, hey, two whole weeks of the Xan Man.”

The smile reached her eyes this time as she looped her arm through his and practically yanked his arm out of his socket as she lead him back to her room, talking a mile a minute about what had been going on since the last time he’d called.

Xander protested only when he was dragged past his bedroom door.

“Hold up, Buff. Let me lose this first.” He held up his beat up duffle bag.

Buffy nodded, adding, “Hurry up. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Xander looked back over his shoulder to see Angel staring hard in their direction, though he made no move to follow; he could practically see the wheels turning in the vampire’s head.

He just wondered how in the hell Angel was able to smell Spike on him. True, the two had hung out at the club together, and yeah, there’d been that scuffle not long before Xander had left. But still…

_‘Stupid vampires and their keen sense of smell_ ,’ he thought, pausing only long enough to toss his bag in his room before being yanked down the hallway towards Buffy’s.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel watched the door to Buffy’s room close and let out a harsh breath. It didn’t help calm him down one whit, so he did it again, and then again… deep breath in, slow exhale out. His anger didn’t subside, however, nor did his need to barge into Buffy’s room and shake Xander until the boy answered his questions.

He couldn’t do that, but there was nothing to stop him from going through Xander’s things – privacy be damned.

Senses tuned to the muted voices coming from down the hall, Angel let himself into Xander’s room. A fine layer of dust covered the surfaces of the various furnishings inside the room, and a musty odor hung heavy in the air; no one had ventured inside since Xander had left.

Angel moved forward and knelt down in front of Xander’s carryall. Opened it up and rifled through the contents without one iota of guilt. His hands pushed aside a few small, wrapped packages – Christmas gifts for his friends, no doubt – the odd assortment of clothes, until they encountered soft, warm leather. He yanked out Xander’s worn coat, and the faint trace of Spike that had driven his demon crazy before nearly overwhelmed him now that he could easily smell his childe’s scent on the thing. At some point, Spike had been up close and personal with the boy.

He didn’t bother to confront Xander with his findings, as it would tip off Buffy as well, instead he shoved the coat back into the bag, zipped it closed, and quietly left the room.

Back in his own bedroom, Angel struggled to put on shirt and pants while attempting to hold his cell phone to his ear and talk.

“Harmony, I want the company jet gassed up and waiting for my arrival. I should be there within thirty minutes— No, make that an hour.” Afternoon traffic in Los Angeles was horrendous.

He eyed his bedroom window, taking note of the bright light that rimmed its edge and was grateful he’d taken to driving one of the company cars rather than relying on his convertible; its windows were specially treated to keep out the sun’s harmful rays and made daytime commuting easier. Ever since Spike had disappeared, he’d been lucky if he left the office before noon.

“But, boss—”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses, Harmony. Just get it done. Also, clear my calendar for at least a week. If anyone asks, I’m working on a delicate negotiation and will be out of the office. I’ll check in with everyone once things show signs of improvement.”

Which was true, in a sense. He knew that his coming reunion with Spike wasn’t going to be easy.

Angel heard Harmony sigh into the phone’s receiver – more like growl – then finally say, “The pilot will need to log a flight plan. What should I tell him?”

“I’ll let him know when I get there.”

He hung up, rather than wait for her reply. No matter how ditzy the blonde vampire came across, she always managed to get things done. It was one of the reasons he’d kept her around after becoming CEO of Wolfram & Hart, instead of staking her.

~*~*~*~*~

Four hours later, Angel was sitting in his seat and staring at the tiny bottles that outlined the table in front of him. They were somewhere over Texas, according to the pilot, which meant that he was halfway there.

It was just a shame that vampire constitution kept him from being halfway to drunk.

He picked another bottle from the pile on the chair beside him and squinted at the contents. Shrugged and opened it after noting what it was: Jack Daniels. He swigged it down and scrunched up his face at the taste, wondering how Spike could stand to drink the stuff.

But then, they were two very different vampires.

Alone in the main cabin, all was quiet save for the steady drone of the jet’s engines and the rhythmic cadence of his watch as it ticked off the seconds.

Each one bringing him closer and closer to his confrontation with Spike.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike refused to admit that he missed having Harris around. So what, the place seemed a bit duller, his job more mundane, because of the boy’s absence.

It wasn’t like the two were _really_ friends, and they damned sure wouldn’t be once Xander discovered the truth—

He growled and mentally shook himself, once more concentrating on the goings on inside the club. A few more hours and he could retire to his room with a nice bottle and content himself with watching cable television.

If his eyes occasionally strayed to the bar and what had become Xander’s customary spot, well, he put it down to keeping an eye on things.

_‘He’ll be back_ ,’ Spike reminded himself, and by all appearances, with neither Buffy nor his sire the wiser. Harris had promised as much, and for once, he was inclined to take the boy at his word.

It left him feeling oddly betrayed when he did a scan of the club and his eyes collided with Angel’s.


	8. 8

By the time Xander had caught up on the latest gossip with his girls – Willow and Dawn having joined him and Buffy not long after he arrived – the sun had set and he did nothing more than stumble down the hall to his room and fall into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, jet lag finally catching up with him.

He’d splurged and used a tiny portion of the nest egg he’d been building and bought a round-trip ticket to California. Leaving his car in Myrtle Beach assured his return to what he was now thinking of as his new home. If his friends’ badgering became too much during his stay, he could always use that as his excuse to leave.

Thankfully, while they’d been upset that his stay was indeed just a visit, they were all happy for him in their own way. After much pouting, Willow had even offered to make him cookies for his flight back.

At breakfast the next morning, Xander thought nothing of Angel’s absence and was just grateful he wouldn’t have to suffer a repeat performance of the vampire’s overbearing manner. Past experience told him that Angel would return to the hotel just before the sun came up and then sleep the day away, rousing sometime late afternoon to prepare for work. So, it wasn’t until then that Xander began to worry.

When he overheard Fred and Wesley talking about Angel’s abrupt departure, he jumped up from the table, ignoring the exclamations from his friends, and rushed to the nearest phone to call Spike and warn him.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel managed not to flinch at the harsh look being directed his way. He put it down to his age and the fact that he and Spike had never really gotten along – at least not since he’d been cursed with a soul.

Still, Spike’s anger gave him pause, and it made him wonder if he’d made the right decision in tracking him down.

_‘Of course, I did.’_

Instead of antagonizing Spike further, Angel turned away and concentrated on his drink, finishing it off with a quick toss of his head. It went the way of the rest of the tiny bottles, settling in his stomach with a pleasant warmth that stretched outward to his limbs. He signaled the bartender and when the man came over, ordered a bottle and grabbed a glass and retreated to a table in the corner away from the dance floor, and by extension, Spike.

Hours later he was still alone, his bottle three quarters of the way empty.

From time to time his eyes had sought out Spike. Each time Spike was at the same spot he’d been all night, the entrance to the VIP section. The one time he hadn’t been, Angel had waited for Spike to appear at his table.

Waited for the finger-pointing and accusations, the raised voices… the eventual fight.

Because the two couldn’t be in the same room for long without coming to blows. That was just how it was between them.

No matter that Angel hoped that _this_ time would be different. That this time they could actually sit down and talk without their past getting in the way.

But Spike hadn’t shown.

A waitress had, twice, to enquire if he needed anything. The first time, he’d just shook his head, staring down at the glass he held in his hands. The second time, he’d looked up, but only because he didn’t want to appear impolite, and when he did, he noticed that Spike was back in his customary spot.

Their eyes had met briefly, and while Spike was still angry, there’d been an appraising look in his eyes. It gave Angel hope that they would actually be able to talk once Spike finished working.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike kept his eye on Angel throughout the remainder of his shift. After the frantic call he’d received from Xander – and yes, he was rather pleased that the boy had thought to call and warn him, no matter that it was too late, though he’d deny it if pressed – realized that Xander had nothing to do with Angel sitting in the club, apparently drowning his “whatever” in a bottle of expensive whisky. Angel, who was in full on “brood mode” – something that couldn’t possibly bode well for Spike.

However, he was determined to ignore Angel’s presence, and did for the most part. It wasn’t until last call was announced overhead that Spike thought to look over at the table Angel had settled at, and was surprised to find it empty. Then he smiled, wondering what the vampire would think when he didn’t leave with the others. That it gave him perverse pleasure in having avoided Angel – at least for the night – was a matter of course, and the simmering anger that had been a constant since first spying Angel eased somewhat.

What he’d not counted on was Angel’s persistence.

He’d just kicked off his shoes, cold beer in one hand, remote in the other, and had settled back on his bed, when he heard footsteps coming down the short hallway.

“Bugger off, mate. Got nothing to say to you,” he called out, loud enough that he knew Angel would hear both the words and the menace behind them.

There was a brief pause in response, but only a brief one, and Spike sighed heavily, set beer and remote aside and met Angel at the door.

“What part of ‘bugger off’ didn’t you understand?” he snapped as he yanked the door open and glared at Angel.

“Spike…”

Surprisingly, Angel didn’t match Spike’s aggression either in tone or manner.

“What?”

“I… uh,” Angel gave him a quick once over, assuring himself of Spike’s good health. “Uh…”

“Spit it out, Angelus, I ain’t got all night.”

“You’re looking good,” Angel stammered out.

“Time and a bit of human blood’ll do that for a vamp.”

“Human blood? Oh… _right_! Well, I’m glad to see that it worked. That you’re all better.”

Spike said nothing and they stood there in awkward silence until Angel could stand it no longer and spoke again.

“Look… can, uh, can we talk?”

“Told you before, I got nothing to say to you.” His irritation was mounting, easily detected in the slight clenching of his jaw, but Angel seemed oblivious.

“Please, Spike.”

“You really don’t get it, do you? I’ve got my own life here, Angelus. I don’t need you showing up—” Spike cut himself off, feeling his anger reach the boiling point and determined not to let it get the better of him. Since that fateful night in Los Angeles, he’d done his best not to let that happen, crushing the demon’s need for destruction and mayhem with an iron will. Thus far, he’d been successful. “Look, just go back to Los Angeles and leave me alone.”

“But I want to help. Buffy—”

Angel never got to finish. Spike’s fist connected with his jaw, hard enough, that he had to wonder if it was broken. But he didn’t have the luxury of worrying about that right now, as Spike appeared in no hurry to put an end to his sudden attack. All he could do was curl in on himself and try to protect his body from the worst of it.

There was no spot left untouched by Spike’s brutal beating. When he thought he could stand the pain no more, Angel felt himself easily lifted, and though his eyes were swollen shut, there was no mistaking the sheer menace in Spike’s voice.

“Leave, before I find a stake and finish what I started.”

Then his body was falling in a heap on the floor where he lay unmoving.

A moment later, he heard the sound of a door being shut.

It was a while before Angel had the strength to do as Spike asked.


	9. 9

While Xander was surrounded by his friends, busy tearing the wrapping paper off the first season of Babylon 5 – a gift from Willow – Spike was alone on the other side of the country, reclined on his bed, cigarette in one hand, a glass of Jack Daniels in the other. “It’s A Wonderful Life” was playing on the television, not that he was really watching it, as he was too busy thinking. Thinking, not brooding. Because brooding was what Angel did.

Both the cigarettes and the alcohol had been gifts from Xander.

And didn’t that just beat all? Xander Bloody Harris buying him Christmas presents.

Spike had been helping the others put the club to rights so that everyone could get home early on Christmas Eve and be with their respective families. Mike had been behind the bar cleaning when he’d suddenly bent down behind the counter and reappeared with two packages hastily wrapped in the Sunday comics.

“Hey, Spike, got something for you.”

He’d looked over, of course, and his eyes had narrowed, first on the two presents, then on his human boss, who couldn’t seem to keep the smile off his face. He’d opened his mouth to protest that as a demon he didn’t _do_ Christmas and to take them back, but Mike had cut him off.

“They’re not from me; they’re from Xander.”

“ _Wot_?”

“They’re from Xander. He wanted me to make sure you got them, since he was out of town. I’ve been hiding them under the counter since he left. So here.” He’d pushed the two presents forward.

Spike had eyed the gifts like they were snakes just waiting to strike.

“Go on then,” Mike had encouraged when he’d just stood there unmoving. “There’s a note on the smaller one.”

Spike had nodded, grabbed the two presents, and retreated to his room, everyone’s “Merry Christmas” ringing in his ears. In his mind, he grumbled, “Bah Humbug”.

For the longest time, he’d ignored the two gifts after having placed them on the dresser. He’d sprawled on the bed and flipped through the channels. Nothing had been on that he’d wanted to watch as every station seemed to have gotten into the holiday spirit and were playing shows geared towards that theme – not something he, as an evil, soulless demon would be interested in, of course. So he’d sat, and smoked, and worked his thumb over the remote nonstop… until his cigarette supply had run out, and he’d discovered that the drawer where he kept his replacement packs was empty.

Then he’d gone back to staring at the presents, preternatural sense easily determining that one of his gifts was a carton of cigarettes. The note attached to it was like a neon sign, shouting, “ _Open_ me already!”

Muttering under his breath, he’d gotten up and yanked the folded note off the rectangular package, nearly taking half the comic wrapping with it. The cigarette carton was revealed – his favorite brand. But, he paid them no mind as he read the short note.

_Spike,_

_For a guy that’s probably been given it all at one time or another, I figured I’d be smart and stick with two of your vices. (Hey! At least it’s not underwear! Or socks! Or a tie, not that you’d wear one of those anyway.)_

_Merry Christmas,_

_Xander_

Spike had stared down at the note until the letters blurred. Only then had he set it aside to open the second gift: a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Xander had been wrong though. Spike had received something he’d never been given before: a genuine offer of friendship. Freely given, with no ulterior motive.

Spike just prayed he didn’t bollocks it up.

The streets were deserted, of course, because of the holiday and the lateness of the hour, but the fresh air felt good, and the night sounds managed to dispel the silence that he’d felt closing in all around him after his coworkers had locked up for the day and gone home. After a brief walk through town – he refused to call it patrolling – Spike made his way to the beach and sat on one of the small catamaran sailboats pulled up on the sand, looking out over the ocean.

Spike wasn’t surprised when, a few hours later, he was joined by Angel, who sat on the opposite hull, saying nothing. He’d known Angel hadn’t left. For one thing, the constant state of tension he was in said his grandsire was still around, lurking in the shadows.

At least he knew to keep his distance, even if Spike wasn’t quite sure what Angel’s game was. He supposed now he was going to find out.

A quick glance revealed Angel’s wounds to be healed, as if the beating he’d received had never happened, his face once more in the beautiful image that had led many a victim to his embrace, and eventual death.

“Why are you here, Angelus?”

He blamed Harris, and the boy’s tentative offer of friendship, for reaching out to his grandsire now, the softly worded question to his grandsire devoid of any of the bitterness he felt. He went one further and tossed his pack of cigarettes and lighter, and was surprised when Angel caught it, took one out and lit up, inhaling deeply.

Angel laughed ruefully, blowing smoke out of his mouth. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“After the night I’ve had, you could tell me that pigs fly and I’d think twice before questioning you,” Spike replied sincerely.

At Angel’s enquiring look, Spike shook his head, then quirked his brow, waiting.


	10. 10

Angel sat there smoking his cigarette, unsure how to begin. Spike, surprisingly, seemed inclined to let him, staring off at the waves crashing onto the shore as Angel gathered his thoughts. The silence, while not exactly comfortable, wasn’t outright hostile either.

He finished his cigarette and flicked it away. Watched as the glowing ember arced and was snuffed by the sand several feet away. He wanted another one as it gave him something to do with his hands.

“Let’s take a walk,” Angel announced abruptly and stood. He waited as Spike looked in his direction, shrugged, then reluctantly got to his feet.

Together they headed towards the water’s edge, close enough so that the sand was hard enough not to make walking awkward, but far enough away to avoid getting wet.

“You’re looking good. Better, I mean,” Angel said after some time. He took another handful of steps before he realized that Spike had stopped.

“We’ve been over this already,” Spike said when Angel turned around and closed the distance.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…” His voice trailed off, and he stared down at his feet, unsure how to explain his riotous emotions. How, for once, both demon and soul were in accord, aching for Spike upon having noticed his ghastly appearance.

When he looked back up, Spike was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression bordering on hostile. “Sorry.”

“Quit bloody apologizing and just tell me why you’re here.”

“I was worried about you.” He ignored Spike’s snort of derision and added, “And I promised Buffy I’d try to find you.”

Angel tensed, waiting for the backlash, but Spike just stared back at him, his brows drawn together in a frown. He took that as a sign to continue.

“She misses you. She barely eats or sleeps, and that even before she found out you’d come back. It’s worse now. A lot worse.” He didn’t add that Buffy was practically willing herself to die. That each day he returned to the hotel and told her of his failed attempts at finding Spike, she slipped further away. “She loves you—”

“Don’t speak to me of love!” Spike snarled. In his mind, all he saw was the kiss Buffy and Angel had shared the morning after they’d spent the night together, how he was taunted with their relationship for years on end while in hell.

“But Spike!”

“No!” Spike took a step back, putting distance between him and Angel. “Forget it, Angel. I’m not going back. Ever. Not for you. Not for her. Not for anyone. I’m done.”

“I thought you loved her. Spike—”

“ _Love_?”

Spike’s bark of laughter seemed tinged with madness and Angel had to wonder, if in fact, Spike was indeed better. He didn’t have time to ask because Spike was talking again.

“The love inside me died when I burned up in the hellmouth. There is no love, Angelus.”

The walls were closing in on Spike. He could feel Angel’s confusion like a palpable thing, and threw out his trump card, the one thing sure to get him to leave, if not stake Spike outright.

“The soul is gone, Angel.”

He turned and walked away, Buffy’s taunting sneer ringing in his ears.

_‘You can’t love without a soul.’_

He didn’t see the pain etched on Angel’s face, the way his shoulders slumped as if unable to carry the burden of Spike’s truth.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel watched Spike walk off and waited a minute before following him at a safe distance. He was shocked to see him return to the club. Sighing, unsure what to do with the information he now had at hand, Angel reluctantly returned to his hotel.

Rather than bother attempting to sleep – impossible after Spike’s bombshell – he sat in one of the chairs and brooded.

The sun was high in the sky and he was still no closer to a solution. Cursing Spike with a soul was out of the question. As was Spike going off to Africa to regain his soul. Angel had read up on the trials Spike had endured and knew that only one boon was ever granted.

Besides which, Spike seemed happy with the way things were. He’d created a little niche for himself here in Myrtle Beach, far away from anyone he’d known in the recent past. And by all appearances, he wasn’t killing.

But, at this point, he couldn’t or wouldn’t begrudge Spike for acting the demon.

His thoughts soon turned to Xander, and the only conclusion he could come up with was that his arrival in Myrtle Beach must have been a fluke. Spike hadn’t mentioned the boy, and Angel figured that Xander had already moved on. It was doubtful Xander would say anything to Buffy or anyone else, especially given his feelings towards what he’d often referred to as the “blond-headed pest”. Xander surely hadn’t caved even with his own less than subtle request for information.

If only Angel had not seen the brief glimmer of pain in Spike’s eyes when he’d said the soul was gone, he could have left Spike to his new life without the crushing weight in his chest, and a desperate need to fix things.

Though, he was just going to have to live with the pain, because not for one second did he contemplate telling Buffy of his find.

Spike had suffered enough.

His thoughts heavy, Angel made a call to his pilot, telling him log a flight plan for their return trip to Los Angeles for later that evening and that he’d be at the airport after the sun went down.

It was time for him to get back to work.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike watched the Lear jet gain speed and lift up into the sky. It banked westward and was soon out of sight, and Spike silently bade goodbye to his sire for the last time.

He’d taken his time returning to the place he called home, waiting for the blow that would end his existence.

It had never come.

Instead, he’d felt Angel’s unobtrusive presence at his back until he’d slipped inside the kitchen door and turned the lock. Then it was gone and Spike had been alone.

Now, as he looked at the spot where Angel’s plane had disappeared, Spike knew that he would never see Angel again. Angel would go back to his life of helping the helpless and forget all about having ever seen him.

If only he could have made Harris do the same.

Unfortunately for him, the boy seemed set on sticking around. And worse, being Spike’s friend.


	11. 11

Xander waited until the day he was scheduled to fly out before sneaking into Buffy’s room and swiping Spike’s things. He didn’t take the duffle, just the contents inside, yanking a few things out of one of Buffy’s drawers to make the bag look full.

He hated deceiving Buffy like he was, but at the same time, he was trying to prove to Spike his good intentions. A rock and a hard place to be sure, but then, that was often the story of his life.

At the airport, he bade goodbye to a tearful Willow and Dawn, and a somber, withdrawn Buffy. Amid hugs and kisses, he promised to call more often, then turned and swiftly walked away towards the security checkpoint, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and Buffy.

Before he did something stupid.

Like cave and tell her he knew where Spike was.

There was only so much misery he could stand to see his friends in, and Buffy, with her dead eyes and broken spirit was much more than he could handle. The only thing that made him get on the plane without confessing was that he swore to himself he was going to work on Spike and get him to change his mind.

If two people were meant to be together, it was Spike and Buffy.

He saw that now.

~*~*~*~*~

In the days following Angel’s departure, Spike was on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But each day was more of the same, work and sleep, with an odd game of poker thrown in for fun.

He stopped expecting the Slayer to show up and confess her undying love, begging his forgiveness for the agony she’d put him through, Angel in the background nodding his approval. It was a fool’s paradise, a pipe dream…

Something he was never meant to have.

And he refused to allow himself to want it.

Better to shun what he couldn’t ever hope of having, rather than deal with disappointment when it never came to pass.

Spike heard footsteps coming down the hallway and frowned before remembering that Harris had been returning today. He sniffed the air, and smiled at recognizing the boy’s scent.

“Door’s open, Harris,” Spike called out, just before Xander could knock.

“Okay, that’s just creepy,” Xander said as he opened the door and peeked his head into the room. “I brought you something.” He walked into the room and held out a paper bag. “Sorry I didn’t bring your bag, but I figured you wanted what’s inside, more than the actual bag.”

“Ta, mate. Just set it on the dresser, yeah? Have a good trip?”

Xander’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline at the question and he floundered a bit before saying somewhat evenly, “Yeah. It was alright.”

Silence descended upon the room until they both spoke at once.

“Well, I should probably get going…” Xander thumbed over his shoulder in that direction.

“Harris? Uh, that is, thanks for the presents…” Spike gestured towards the cigarettes and Jack Daniels on the dresser. Responded to Xander’s statement before the conversation became even more awkward, “I’ll see ya at work later then.”

“Yeah. Okay. Oh, and you’re welcome… for the gifts.” Xander smiled and left.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel spent a week buried in work, availing himself of the bedroom suite – one of the perks of being the CEO – for a few hours’ sleep each day. In between working cases, he spent the time trying to solve Spike’s problem.

Unfortunately, he was no closer to a solution.

Wolfram and Hart resources were useless, much to his disappointment, because what good was being the CEO of an evil law firm if he couldn’t find some way for Spike to regain his soul? And there’d been no divine intervention at the start of the New Year. A fleeting hope at best, but one he’d had nonetheless.

It pained him to admit it, but he was going to have to seek help from another quarter.

He just hated having to involve Giles, especially given the man’s enmity towards Spike.

Sighing, Angel informed Harmony he was leaving for the day, and took his private elevator to the garage. He spent the time driving back to the hotel going over how he was going to ask Giles for assistance.

When he walked through the front doors of the Hyperion, he could only stare in shock at the bedlam going on before him. Buffy was alternately crying and raging at everyone around her as she turned over cushions and then the couch, searching for something. Willow was just as frantic in her search, while alternately consoling her friend.

“What’s going on?” Angel called out over the noise, but no one paid him any mind.

At least until Buffy got wind of his presence; he could practically see the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end just before she turned in his direction. And if he lived another day, he could cheerfully do it without having seen murder in her eyes, directed at him, ever again.

“You!” She flew at him, materializing a stake from somewhere on her person, and she seemed hell bent on using it. “Give it back! You had no right to take it!”

“Buffy? What?” Angel easily caught the stake aimed at his heart and yanked it out of her grasp. “I didn’t take anything. Hell, I haven’t even been here this past week.”

The fight seemed to go out of her at his words, and he felt her sag against his chest, the fight going out of her. Angel gathered her close and lifted his head to the others in the room for an explanation.

“Spike’s things are gone,” Willow informed him.


	12. 12

Angel led an unresisting Buffy to the couch and urged her to sit down. She was immediately joined by Willow, who pulled her close in a comforting hug, assuring her friend that they would find Spike’s belongings soon and not to worry. Not that it did any good as Buffy appeared inconsolable, crying quietly on her friend’s shoulder.

Footsteps sounded from the upper floor and Angel turned to see Giles hurrying down the steps appearing less than his usual unflappable self.

“I’ve searched the upper floor but found nothing,” Giles announced as he joined them. He ran a hand through his hair as he took in Buffy’s appearance. “We’ll keep looking, however. Some of the girls are out at the moment. I’ll check with them when they return.”

“See, Buffy?” Willow said, ever the peacemaker. “We’ll find his things. I’m sure someone just…” She let her words trail off, unsure what to say that would make the situation better. Because why would anyone go into Buffy’s room and steal Spike’s things? It would just mean that the person was either heartless or cruel.

Angel looked around the hotel. The place looked old and worn, now that the decorations had been taken down – much like he felt.

“Where’s Xander?” he said out of the blue, after a second glance revealed the boy missing.

“He left a few days ago,” Willow said. “He had to get back to work. New job and all.”

“A new job?” Angel parroted. He’d never been overly concerned about Xander, and had actually breathed a sigh of relief when he’d announced to everyone that he was leaving Los Angeles to tour the States, something that he’d apparently started after high school, but had not gotten very far with.

The two had never been the best of friends. Actually they’d _never_ been friends. Could barely tolerate the other’s presence, if the truth be told. And it was all because they’d butted heads over a certain girl. That, and because Angel was a vampire, and Xander hated vampires.

“Yep. He flew back to Myrtle Beach about a week ago. He’s a bartender now.”

Angel didn’t hear the rest of Willow’s explanation, fixated as he was on the fact that Xander was moving to the same city Spike was in. The fact that he was a bartender was too likely a coincidence not to investigate further.

He made a vague remark, murmured under his breath, and left the lobby. Thankfully no one commented on his departure; he didn’t want to have to explain what he was coming to believe. That it was Xander that had stolen Spike’s things. That the boy had known of Spike’s whereabouts and never said a word to anyone – not even Willow – the entire time he was here.

And that was the crux of the matter. Xander’s actions didn’t fit. It was so unlike him to hold his tongue.

As much as he wanted to leave Spike to the new life he had created, Angel just couldn’t let the matter drop until he knew the truth. For that, he was going to have to make a return trip to Myrtle Beach.

~*~*~*~*~

“Prolly need to look into finding a place.”

Xander looked up from where he was cleaning glasses behind the bar to see Spike leaning against it.

“Huh?”

“Gonna be here a while, yeah? Can’t keep living in that motel. Ain’t safe for one thing.”

“I guess.” In truth, Xander hadn’t really thought about it. But, he supposed Spike made sense. He’d made the commitment to stay, and he made a decent wage – especially with the tips he received. He could afford his own apartment, surround himself with his own things. “You wouldn’t by chance—?”

“Know someplace? Wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.”

“Well, I’m off tomorrow night.”

“I’ll talk to Mike. Take the night off too. We can go round the place. Check it out.”

“It’s a date. Day! _Deal_! I mean—”

“Got it, Harris,” Spike snorted at Xander’s backpedalling. “I’ll swing by your hotel, tomorrow after dark.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Spike wandered off, finishing up his portion of the nightly cleanup and Xander went back to straightening things behind the bar. By the time he had finished and collected his tips for the night, the place was deserted, though he knew Spike was lurking around somewhere.

Though the vampire would never admit to it in a million years, he’d become Xander’s shadow during his nightly walks back to his hotel room, making sure that no harm befell him on the trip.

Xander smiled and let himself out of the back door, mindful to lock the door on his way out. He walked to the end of the alley and turned to the corner and knew that Spike had settled in behind him, skulking from shadow to shadow so as not to be seen. Even so, he knew Spike would be back there. It put a spring in his step, gave him a confidence to walk the darkened streets that he’d not otherwise have had.

The smile stayed in place until he stepped inside his room and shut the door. He whispered a quiet “Goodnight, Spike” that the vampire no doubt heard and began pulling off his clothes as he walked towards the bathroom.

He wanted nothing more than to take a shower and crawl into bed and sleep.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike snorted at Xander’s murmured farewell and jumped down from the roof of the nearby building and headed back the way he’d come. He needed to call Scott and let him know that he and Xander would be swinging by his brother’s empty apartment tomorrow night.

He stopped suddenly and sniffed the air. Frowned at what his nose was telling him, if not his eyes.

A moment later, Angel stepped out of the alley, directly in his path.


	13. 13

“William.”

“’gelus,” Spike replied somewhat warily. It had been a long time since he’d heard that particular tone of voice. It instantly put him on edge.

“You want to tell me what you think you’re doing?”

“Doing?”

“With Xander.”

“’m not doing anything with the boy.”

Angel’s brows drew together in a frown.

“So him moving here—?”

“Look, I tried to get Harris to piss off. He wasn’t having it. What else was I gonna do?”

“You tell me.”

Spike opened his mouth to speak but Angel beat him to it.

“Does he know?”

There was no need to explain what Xander might know.

“Course not. ‘m not bloody stupid.”

“Actually…” Xander spoke from the shadows, startling both vampires. He stepped into the light, and there was no mistaking the frown he directed at Angel. Some sixth sense had told him to hold off on the shower. The hairs on the back of his neck had been standing on end as he’d shut and locked the door. He’d hastily pulled his shirt back on and hurried back out the door. Now he knew the source of his unease. “Angel, so not nice to see you,” he snapped.

Spike bit back a smile seeing Angel’s frown of displeasure at the sarcastic greeting. Harris was the only one besides himself who could get under Angel’s skin. And took joy in it too.

“Xander,” Angel growled.

“What?”

He fluttered his one eye at Angel and this time Spike did laugh. He couldn’t help it. Harris had more balls than common sense when it came to Angel. Come to think of it, he also had that in common with Harris.

“Spike.”

Angel’s growl was directed at him now.

“What are you doing here?” Xander demanded of Angel before he had a chance to say anything else.

“What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?”

“Uh, it’s called a _job_.” There was a pregnant pause at the end, in which any number of derogatory names could have been attached. Doofus, or maybe arsehole. Spike was rather surprised at the boy’s restraint.

“Have you lost your mind? Spike’s—”

Spike stiffened, waiting for the truth to come out. For Xander to look at him in horror and run back to the safety of his hotel room – not that it could actually keep a vampire out if one really wanted to get in.

“Soulless,” Xander finished for Angel. “Yeah. Got the memo.”

Spike astonished gaze shifted from Angel to Xander.

Xander did a good impression of an eye roll.

“Spike, subtle you are not. I got it about the fifth or so time you went out of your way claiming to be an evil, soulless demon.” Xander looked at Angel. “Any other enlightening news you have to share?”

Angel wanted to wipe the smug look off Xander’s face by telling him about Buffy, how distraught she was because Spike’s things had gone missing. He couldn’t though. For one thing, it would kill the look of wonderment in Spike’s eyes.

After all that Spike had been made to suffer, Angel just couldn’t bear to cause him any more pain. And knowing, truly knowing, how badly Buffy hurt would do that. For as much as Spike might protest, he still loved the Slayer.

For now, he walked away. But they would talk – he and Xander – later, once Spike wasn’t around.

~*~*~*~*~

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as being miss-ish,” Spike goaded as Xander paused before the building, eye wide in stunned surprise. There’d been no mistaking the demons coming and going in and out of the building, a few humans were thrown in for good measure.

After the big reveal – or maybe not big reveal – of the previous night, Spike had still met up with Xander to look over the apartment, only somewhat warily, as if unsure of his welcome. When he had arrived, he’d waited for Xander to change his mind, but the boy had said nothing other than “Hey, Spike,” and a “Let me grab my keys”. The silence as they walked to the apartment complex wasn’t uncomfortable, not like last night, when Angel had just walked away leaving him and Spike staring at each other, before Harris had given him a half-smile, turned on his heel, and left.

“I’m not being miss-ish,” Xander griped. “You could have told me I was going to have demons for neighbors though.”

“Would you have come?”

Prior to moving to Myrtle Beach, the answer would have been an emphatic _no!_ Now, however… well, if Spike seemed okay with the place, who was he to stand on ceremony? He said as much.

“Place is safe enough,” Spike replied evenly. That Harris seemed inclined to take his word was still pretty shocking. A part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Well alright then.” Xander squared his shoulders and started up the walkway. Just before he reached the glass doorway, it opened, and Scott’s brother – it had to be him, given the family resemblance – greeted him.

“You must be Xander. I’m Jason, by the way.” He shook hands with Xander then nodded at Spike. “Spike. How’s it going?”

Spike muttered something that could have been “fine”.

“Well, come in. I’ll show you around. As you can see, the front lobby has a keyed entry. There’s an intercom system too. Keeps out the riffraff.” Jason winked and kept walking. “The apartment is on the fourth floor. We can take the elevators or the stairs.”

“The elevator is fine,” Xander replied.

“Good. Good. There’s an indoor pool and a gym on the first floor. Laundromat is as well – have to pay for that though.”

Xander nodded as he entered the elevator after Jason. Spike followed behind him.

The apartment was surprisingly spacious for a single bedroom. Especially given the small amount of rent being asked. There was a huge living room, dining room, and kitchen; the appliances all looked fairly new. The bedroom was a decent size, large enough to hold a king-sized bed and still have room for a dresser and wardrobe and room to move around without constantly banging one’s foot against the furniture. The bathroom was in the bedroom, but there was also a half bath out in the main living area.

In all, it was perfect. He said as much to Jason and they got down to particulars of rent and when Xander could plan on moving in. Given that the place was already vacant, it was just a matter of rent monies changing hands and keys being turned over. The deposit was waived given that he was a friend of Spike’s.

~*~*~*~*~

Xander had just collapsed onto the couch when there was a knock at his door. Thinking that Spike had forgotten something he yelled out, “Come in, the door’s open.”

He should have known better. He was a child of the hellmouth after all.

“Xander.”

Xander scrambled to his feet upon hearing Angel’s voice, tired muscles that had been pushed to their limit moving around his new furniture were but a distant memory as a rush of adrenaline flooded his body. He looked around wildly for something he could use as a stake.

“What do you want?” Xander asked as he edged toward the dining room and the wooden table and chair set. He wondered if he could break off a chair leg before Angel was upon him.

“We need to talk.”

Angel seemed so serious that Xander gave up trying to find a weapon and instead headed towards the kitchen.

“Something tells me I’m gonna need a drink for this. Want one?”

Angel opened his mouth to reply in the negative, seemed to think better of it, and finally nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”


	14. 14

“We have to tell her.”

Xander started to speak, perhaps to deny what Angel was saying, or to agree.

“She needs to know.”

And there was such—Xander wasn’t quite sure _what_ word to use to encompass the range of emotions Angel was feeling as he spoke of Buffy – pain, regret, sorrow. He could only nod quietly. Said, “I can’t do it. It’ll have to be you. I—” _I can’t break my promise to Spike._

“I know.” And for once, Angel understood Xander’s reluctance. His unwittingly having put himself in the middle.

“She has to know about the soul, Angel. I don’t want her coming here without knowing. Spike deserves—he doesn’t deserve having her fight with him. If she can’t love him without it…”

“I’ll tell her.”

“It may not be enough. Spike’s been—” Spike had only hinted to Xander about his time spent in hell, and that because he’d been drunk at the time, but Xander had been able to figure out that both Buffy and Angel had had starring roles in his torment. “He won’t let himself be hurt again.”

Xander finished off his beer then leaned back into the chair and closed his eye. Telling Buffy could backfire in his and Angel’s face. Whatever friendship he’d forged with Spike irrevocably damaged. Still…

Buffy and Spike were his friends. They deserved to be happy. Together, if at all possible.

The two lapsed into silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

When Angel could take the quiet no more, he stood and headed towards the door. Xander followed behind, intent on locking up behind him.

As Angel crossed the threshold, he turned back and asked, “How did you know?”

“About Spike?”

Angel nodded.

Xander shrugged. “Like recognizing like, I guess.” He sighed and leaned against the doorjamb. “I fell into a bottle about a mile outside of Los Angeles. Lost my soul in the process. I didn’t sober up until I hit rock bottom in a little town called Liberty, Texas. Not sure if my soul survived the process. Hell, I’m not sure if I could get it back. I did a lot of things I’m not proud of…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged again. “What about you?

“What about me?” Angel wanted to know.

“Spike’s still walking around and you don’t seem too eager to stake him.”

“It’s complicated.”

“As complicated as me being friends with an evil, soulless vampire?”

Angel grunted. His eyes flashed briefly, but Xander wasn’t afraid. Angel seemed more bluster than bite these days.

“Losing Spike once was more than either the soul or demon could take,” Angel replied honestly. “It damn near destroyed me. I could no more kill Spike now than I could my own child.” He got in Xander’s face, his eyes more yellow than brown. “I accept him, just as you accept him.”

“So long as we’re on the same page. He’s not like you.” _Not like Angelus._

Angel stepped back and Xander took a deep breath. “No, William was always different. Too softhearted by half.”

A smile played about Angel’s lips and in that moment he looked eerily like Angelus. Then he seemed to shake himself and the moment was gone. His face settled into his perpetual brood.

“I’ll call you once I’ve spoken with Buffy.”

And that was apparently that, Xander thought. Angel turned away, leather coat billowing behind him as he walked down the hall towards the stairwell.

Xander rolled his eye and stepped back into his apartment, shut and locked the door. At least now he knew where Spike learned his dramatic exits from.

~*~*~*~*~

Two days later, Xander replaced the phone in the handset and glanced down at the flight details he’d hastily scribbled on a scratch piece of paper.

Buffy was on her way.

Angel hadn’t gone into details of the conversation he’d had with her other than to say that Buffy knew about the soul, or lack thereof, and was flying out on Angel’s jet to see Spike. He’d deliberately planned a stopover in Atlanta so that she’d arrive early tomorrow morning.

At least she was coming alone.

Xander wasn’t quite sure how he would have survived not only Buffy’s disappointment, but Willow’s as well. He took a steadying breath before shoving the paper in his pocket and turning back to the bar and the customers waiting to be served. As he mixed a drink for a young redhead, he glanced guiltily at where Spike stood guarding the entrance to the VIP lounge.

It was going to be a long night.

~*~*~*~*~

The first thing Buffy did after hurrying down the steps of the jet was throw herself into Xander’s arms. She nearly squeezed the breath out of him, but that was okay – she wasn’t hitting him, which was probably more than he deserved.

A moment later, she stepped back and socked him in the arm none too gently.

“Okay… _oww_!” Xander complained as he attempted to rub away the ache.

“That was for not telling me about Spike,” Buffy informed him before she hit him again, in the exact same spot.

“Oww! What was _that_ for?”

“For stealing Spike’s stuff and making me almost stake Angel.”

“You almost staked Angel? And I _missed_ it? Damn!”

Buffy’s lips twitched at his forlorn expression.

“Don’t try and make me laugh, Xander. I’m still mad at you.”

“Are you going to be mad at me for long?” His tone came across as playful, but in truth, he really wanted to know.

Buffy took note of his rigid stance, the wariness in his eye and sighed.

“No. Me and Angel talked. Well, actually, Angel did most of the talking. Is it really gone? Spike’s soul.”

“Yes.”

Buffy nodded, as if fortifying herself. “That’s okay. I don’t care.”

Xander’s eyebrows rose.

“I mean, I _care_. He worked hard to get his soul back. It’s not fair that he had to sacrifice it to save the word. It doesn’t change the way I feel though.” She looked at Xander intently. “How is he?”

“Some days are better than others. He’s got a job… and friends now.”

“You’re his friend.”

Xander wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, but he nodded anyway. “Things are different now. I—” _Grew up._

“It’s okay, Xander.” Buffy said when Xander seemed at a loss for words. “Really. It hurt. I’m not gonna lie. But I’m kinda glad that he had you, you know, as a friend.”

Buffy looped her arm through Xander’s and together they walked back to his car.


	15. 15

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Xander said, not for the first time on the drive over. Buffy had crashed at his place for the day and had practically blackmailed him into bringing her to work with him. Her reasoning? That it was less likely Spike would cause a scene in the presence of others. Yeah, right. Like that had ever stopped him before. “You do realize that he doesn’t have a chip to keep him from hurting me, right?”

Not that Xander expected Spike would, or so he hoped, he was just trying to find any excuse to get Buffy to change her mind. Apparently she saw through his attempt, because she just looked at him as he turned off the engine then got out of the car.

Xander muttered under his breath as he joined her, pocketing his keys as he headed towards the employee entrance. He was almost to the door when he reached out and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop.

“I should tell you. Spike’s not the only demon that works here.”

Buffy did a double blink. “ _Okaaay_.”

“I just meant you can’t go all ‘slayer’ on my friends.”

“Like I couldn’t go all ‘slayer’ on your neighbors?”

“This was a mistake,” he muttered as he opened the door. “Just keep your stake in your pocket and no roughing up of the help.”

“I’ll be a good slayer. Cross my heart.”

“Yeah, right.”

They’d barely stepped inside when he felt Buffy stiffen at his side. “Hey, Scott,” he called out. Muttered, “Nice demon” under his breath before introducing Buffy.

If Scott guessed at what Buffy was he gave no indication, stepping forward with his hand outstretched and a smile on his face. “Nice to meet you. Buffy, is it?”

“Yep.” Buffy shook Scott’s hand, her eyes widening perceptibly at the tight grip. “Nice to meet you too. Xander’s told me so much about you.”

“Xander? Oh, you mean Alex!”

“Right. I forgot that. You guys call him Alex. He told me that, of course.”

Xander interjected before things could become any more strained. “Have you seen Spike? Buffy’s an old friend of ours. We wanted to catch him before he clocked in.”

“I don’t think he’s come downstairs yet. You know what a night owl he is.”

“I’ll just take Buffy up to the VIP lounge and go knock on his door.”

Scott shrugged as if it didn’t matter either way, but both Xander and Buffy felt his eyes on their backs as they left the kitchen.

“He seems nice,” Buffy commented as the door swung shut and they wended their way through the tables littering the room.

“He is. He’s probably just a little jumpy because you have his “slay-dar” going crazy.”

“I was nice. Wasn’t I nice? I didn’t even get testy when he tried to break every bone in my hand with that handshake of his.”

Xander was too busy frowning at her to see Spike come down the stairs, but he knew something had happened when Buffy seemed to freeze in her tracks, the color draining from her face. Something like “oh fuck” went through his head and he turned to see Spike glaring in their direction.

“Spike?”

Xander’s overly enthusiastic “Spike!” eclipsed Buffy’s whispered plea. He felt her latch onto his arm and start to squeeze, afraid to move.

“Spike—” he said again.

“Damn you, Harris.” And there was a wealth of loathing in his words, directed Xander’s way, before he turned on his heel and started back up the stairs.

“Spike, please. It wasn’t Xander’s fault,” Buffy began, finally chasing after him when he kept going. “Angel—”

Buffy froze midway up the stairs as Spike swiveled back again, demon to the fore as he pointed at her, snarling, “Don’t speak his name to me.” Seeing her brought it all back, the two of them embracing, taunting him. He wanted to lash out. Inflict as much pain as he himself was experiencing.

For one fleeting moment, Buffy thought Spike was going to kill her, he seemed that angry.

“Please don’t be mad at Xander. He didn’t say anything. I swear.”

“Do you think I give a bloody damn what you say?”

“Spike!” There was no mistaking the hurt his words had caused.

“What? Did you honestly think I’d be happy to see you, Slayer? Welcome you with open arms? Tell you how much I missed you. That I _love_ you?” He watched her face cloud up, chuckled mercilessly as she began to cry.

“That’s enough, Spike,” Xander snapped as he came up the stairs and took Buffy in his arms. “You’ve got in your licks, now stop it.”

“I ought to rip out your spleen for bringing her here.”

“Go right ahead. Just leave Buffy alone. She’s suffered enough.”

“Suffered?” Spike shouted incredulously. “ _Suffered_? She doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

“Think what you want, but Buffy loves you. Do you have any idea what it was like, knowing that she would have rather been buried in that crater than live without you?”

“Xander, no… Don’t.”

But Xander wasn’t listening to Buffy, he was still staring at Spike, so he witnessed the blue eyes that glittered with remorse as his demon receded, right before he walked off.

“I should go,” Buffy said, her words barely more than a whisper.

“No.” Xander let her to one of the tables and pulled out a chair for her to sit down. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Xander didn’t wait to see if Buffy listened to him. He was too intent on hurrying up the stairs to give Spike a piece of his mind. Maybe even two; Spike had been hitting a bit below the belt with his comments.

Enough was enough already.

~*~*~*~*~

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Xander demanded as he slammed open Spike’s door. He paused upon seeing Spike gathering his belongings and shoving them into a duffle bag. “Where do you think you’re going?”

His hand closed around Spike’s arm, and he asked again. Unfortunately, Spike shrugged his hold off as if he were no more than a pesky fly, making him stumble back a step or two.

“Bugger off, Harris.”

“No.” Xander crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Spike.

Spike ignored him.

Xander sighed and shook his head. “You’re an idiot, you know.”

Again nothing. Spike just continued to pack.

“Buffy loves you… and you’re gonna what? Run off? I didn’t think you were such a coward. Maybe she is better off with Ang—”

Xander didn’t get to finish. There was a loud roar and then he was slammed up against the wall, a hand wrapped around his throat as he stood nose-to-nose with a pissed off Spike. But Xander’s stupidity wasn’t over just yet, and he taunted Spike further. “What? The truth hurt? How’s it feel to know that Angel’s the better vampire? The better _man_?”

 _Damn, that was low, even for me_ , Xander thought.

Then he thought that he may have gone too far; it probably wasn’t a good thing to goad the evil, soulless demon… even if he was considered a friend now. Knew it when Spike took a step back and he saw a fist headed his way, with enough strength behind it to break his jaw.

It punched a hole in the door instead.

Xander let out a relieved sigh, but didn’t dare smile. A second later the hand about his throat was gone and Spike had moved away. His shoulders were slumped and he had an air of defeat about him that Xander couldn’t continue to prick his temper.

The words when they came were barely above a whisper. As it was, Spike refused to look at him.

“Don’t you think I don’t know that, Harris? Spent a bloody eon in hell with that point hammered over and over into my skull.” There was no heat in his words, only resignation.

“It was hell, Spike. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t _real._ ”

Xander wasn’t sure if Spike was listening, or even believed what he was saying, because Spike didn’t reply, didn’t even look at him. Sighing, he turned on his heel and left, pulling the door closed behind him.

There was nothing more he could do.

It was up to Buffy now.

~*~*~*~*~

When Xander walked down the stairs, he noticed Buffy staring listlessly at her clasped hands as they rested on the table. She seemed to sense his presence and half came out of her chair, but something in his expression made her fall abruptly back into her seat.

“I should go,” she said after some time.

Buffy stood, but couldn’t make herself leave. Not with Spike being so close.

Xander stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “Buff—”

“You heard him, Xander. He—he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“But—”

“I didn’t figure you for a coward,” Xander interrupted before she could give anymore excuses. “All that talk of love… was it just talk, or do you really love him?”

Xander heard her indrawn breath, felt her stiffen in his arms. He bit back a smile as she shoved him away and hurried up the stairs after Spike.

When Spike’s door crashed inward against the wall, he did smile, then laughed outright.

 _‘Spike doesn’t stand a chance’,_ he thought as he walked behind the bar and helped himself to a beer. It was cause for a celebration, because he knew then that Buffy and Spike would work things out. It might not be pretty, their confrontation, but he had faith in Buffy’s abilities… and her love.

He noticed Scott standing in the doorway to the kitchen, one brow arched in enquiry very reminiscent of Spike.

“What? You never heard the saying that opposites attract?” Xander said and laughed again. Scott ambled over, and Xander grabbed another beer out of the fridge, opened it, and slid it along the bar to his friend.

~*~*~*~*~

When Buffy found Spike sitting on the side of the bed, looking so forlorn, what little anger she felt at his callous treatment earlier drained away leaving her oddly deflated. She didn’t want to fight with him. Her tears from a moment ago seemed to return with a vengeance and she took a tentative step into the room, and then another, and another… until she’d reached his side. She sat beside him on the bed and placed a hand over his as it rested on his thigh.

At seeing the stake he held in the other, she could only gasp in dismay.

“Spike?”

“Soul’s gone, Slayer,” Spike said before Buffy could say anything else. He held out the stake. “Here, I won’t stop you. Figure there are worse ways of dying than at a slayer’s hand.”

As much as Harris might have professed to the Slayer loving him, Spike knew she wouldn’t if he didn’t have a soul. And with the chip gone too? Well… there really wasn’t much else to say other than the Slayer had to stake him.

Hopefully this time when he dusted, hell would be of a different making.

~*~*~*~*~

The stake clattered to the ground and Buffy wrapped her arms around Spike’s waist. It broke her heart to feel him go rigid beneath her, arms lying loosely at his side. Tears soaked his shirt sleeve where her face was pressed against it.

“I’m sorry, Spike. Sorry I waited so long to tell you. And I know you don’t believe me, but I love you. I don’t care if you don’t have your soul. It doesn’t matter. I swear it doesn’t. Please believe me…”

 _‘Then again, maybe Xander had been right all along,’_ he thought. About all of it. Buffy’s love. Hell’s cruel taunts.

It came to him then, what Xander had said earlier.

_“Do you have any idea what it was like, knowing that she would have rather been buried in that crater than live without you?”_

At the time, he’d been too furious for the words to sink in, and he felt a pang in his chest at hearing of Buffy’s desolation, her inconsolability. He hadn’t wanted that for her. He’d wanted her to live.

It had been his gift to her.

Because he loved her.

But hell had twisted love to hate. And it had almost succeeded, but for the girl crying softly against him. The Slayer who cared not a whit for his lack of a soul, who loved him still.

“Ah, hell, Slayer. Please don’t cry. Buffy… I’m not worth it.” Spike dragged the Slayer onto his lap, wrapped his arms around her back as she cried against his chest.

His own eyes were unnaturally moist. It was his fondest wish that the Slayer would love him regardless. The knowledge that she did nearly brought him to his knees.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve your love, but you won’t regret it,” he murmured against her hair. “I promise.”

“Tell me you love me.”

“Oh, luv. I never stopped.”

Buffy sat up, forcing Spike to look at her. She could see it in his eyes, but she wanted the words. Needed the words. “Say it. Let me hear the words.”

“I love you, Buffy.”

The End


End file.
